


A Redemption of Genius

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Things Unwanted [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Ass-Kicking, Attempted Suicide - brief, Bathing, Blindfolds, Cages, Canes, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Collars, Drugged Moriarty, Earplugs, Enemas, Face Slapping, Flogging, Forced Hydration, Gags, Handcuffs, Hitting, Hoods, Humbler, Leashes, M/M, Masks, Menthol, Mind Manipulation, Mittens - Freeform, Nipple Clamps, Non-Consensual Bondage, Pinching, Posture Collar, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Shibari, Slaping, Slapping, Sounding, St. Andrew's Cross, Stockholm Syndrome, Suspension Bondage, headphones, weights, white noise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 112,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9874610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: Sherlock can't stand to lock away the only person he's not related to who can challenge him mentally. But Moriarty can't be left to his own devices. So Sherlock, with John, Mycroft and Greg's help decide that the only way to neutralize him as a threat is to break him down and reprogram him. Jim, already obsessed with Sherlock, turns his devotion to him.





	1. An Unlikely Project

John used his foot to kick open the door to 221C. Together, he and Sherlock dragged an unconscious and bound Moriarty into the once empty flat. Now the flat was filled with everything it would take to twist an already insane, but brilliant mind in the shape Sherlock wanted it to take. Rather than bringing about the end of the criminal mastermind, the detective intended to tame him.

This mad idea of the detective's had arisen after the second pip a few days ago. He'd had Mycroft's men on standby when he went to the pool and after an incredibly long and arduous argument, Sherlock managed to convince John that he was right, that without killing Jim, it was the only way.

They dropped him in the centre of the room. "John, I want to get him stripped and on the cross before he wakes up, then we can turn on the white noise and leave him for a few hours."

Nodding, the doctor cut Jim's bonds and started undressing him. "You're going to gag and blindfold him, right? We don't want him to be heard."

"Trust me, John. No one is going to hear Moriarty, not through the soundproofing we put in."

"How the hell did you get your brother to agree to this?"

"How the hell did I get you to agree with this?" Sherlock countered.

John smirked. "Fair play."

He pulled the consulting criminal's trousers off. "You know, I could get jealous of him, if this works out."

"This is about taming his obsession with me, not me falling in love with him." Sherlock walked over and kissed John. "I value him for his intellect. It's you that I love."

"What do you value me for?" John quizzed.

"Hmm… good question. Your ability to put up with me. You being a great doctor. And you agreeing to be with me despite my brother's insistence on running my life."

The doctor laughed. "Fair points, all. As he pulled off Jim's pants, Sherlock approached with the aforementioned gag and blindfold.

"I want him to be completely disoriented, but he's smart. We'll need to use the earplugs too." Sherlock buckled the gag in place. "And the menthol. That should help eliminate sensory clues." The detective put the bilndfold on Moriarty.

"How do you know to do all of this to him?"

Sherlock looked at the older man for a moment. "It's what you would need to do to stop me."

"Okay... Then should we assume he's an escape artist?" John asked. "You can pick the lock on handcuffs, I've seen you do it."

Sherlock held up a pair of mittens with leather straps on them. "That's what these are for."

"You really have thought of everything."

"It was a simple matter of knowing what Mycroft would have to do to me if he had to lock me up." His gaze trailed to the door.

"Did Mycroft do this to you?"

"I had a habit of escaping rehab. He took me some place I couldn't get out of, yes."

A muscle in John's cheek twitched, but he didn't say anything. The detective, of course, noticed.

"It's one reason our relationship is a cool one. Help me with him." Together they lifted Moriarty onto the cross and Sherlock locked a wide belt around his waist, holding him there. "But I suppose it kept me alive long enough to find The Work." He glanced at John. "To find you."

"I suppose you should thank him then."

The detective was busy buckling Jim's hands and fingers into the mittens and then strapping them to the cross.

"I suppose…" at a knock on the door he knew who exactly it was.

"Having fun?" Mycroft asked.

"We're not doing this for fun, Mycroft," the detective spat. "It's a necessity. We're trying to save a work of art."

Mycroft gave a mocking shrug, his hands planted on his umbrella. "How very... sentimental of you."

"Oh, 'Lock," John laughed. "We are planning to have a bit of fun, though, right? After all, it may get boring after a while."

"It won't get boring."

"It will if he won't break," Mycroft put in, stepping into the room more fully and allowing the door to close behind him.

"I have several ideas that you may wish to put into play." He pulled out a device and handed it to his brother. This can be used to modulate our voices when we're ready to talk to him."

"You mean…" John glanced up at the elder Holmes and then the younger one, "he would have no idea who we are?"

"That's the idea," Mycroft said.

"Hand me that thing." John turned it on and spoke into it. "Luke I am your father." He broke off into a fit of giggles as the other two men looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Cultural reference, nevermind. Hold on," John paused. "Did you two actually just agree on something?"

"Would you mind shutting up?" Sherlock asked of the doctor. "If he wakes up and we're still here it'll be game over."

John closed his mouth, but resolved to call the detective 'git' and 'prat' at least five times before the evening was over. He knelt and buckled Moriarty's ankles into cuffs, then stood.

Sherlock inserted the earplugs and turned on the white noise - a double blind, as it were. Next came the menthol. "I believe that does it, for now."

"I hope you've noticed what I've had installed?" Mycroft's words were a question.

Sherlock nodded, but John frowned.

The older man indicated each corner individually. Each one held a camera.

"Of course, I've noticed." Sherlock glanced at the cameras. "They'll be very convenient for monitoring his progress and preventing his escape." He smiled wickedly and flicked the thermostat lower. It would get very uncomfortable very soon.

With that Sherlock walked from the room. Mycroft followed not so far behind. John remained long enough for the trussed up man to begin rousing. He patted him on the cheek, then he, too, left the room.

* * *

Moriarty slowly became aware of his surroundings, rather of his lack of awareness of his surroundings. When he tried to move, he found that his range of motion was more than severely limited, it was almost nonexistent. A low menacing growl escaped around the gag as he went into a blind rage.

Both Holmes brothers as well as John sat up in 221B watching the Irishman become as close to conscious as he could get given his rather inconvenient state. The trio were laughing heartily. It was evident that the drugs he had been given were slowly starting to wear off as his muffled and incoherent vocalisations became more frequent and he finally started thrashing in his bonds.

"It's such a pity it won't last," Mycroft said, pointing at the image of Moriarty on the screen. "He'll calm himself quicker than most."

John frowned. "Why? How do you know?"

Sherlock smirked as he answered. "I wouldn't fight long. Waste of energy. It's also pretty pointless once he works out what sort of position he's in."

"But he has no idea what toys we have in that room," the doctor observed.

On the screen, Moriarty had already calmed visibly. The quality of the cameras was such that the trio could see goose pimples rising over their prisoner's body.

"Bit mean, wasn't it, 'Lock?" The doctor questioned. "Turning the temperature down."

Sherlock shrugged. "I think after everything he did. Opposite here… the old woman… the block of flats… the little boy… mean shouldn't cover it. He'll find justice here far better than he would at the Yard, when it comes to this sort of thing, British justice sucks."

Mycroft inclined his head, "I'm afraid to admit it John, but my baby brother is right."

"Oh, he's thinking, now." Sherlock leaned closer to the screen. "He'll be trying to determine where he is and who captured him. He'll never suspect us for one simple reason."

"And that is?" John asked.

"You. He'd never consider that you'd condone such a treatment of anyone," Mycroft explained.

John snorted. "Yeah. Well, strap me in Semtex and I get a bit upset, don't I?"

"So why wouldn't he suspect Mycroft?"

"He might," Sherlock conceded. "But then again, he would have no reason to suspect him. Mycroft has no… how to put it? Beef with him."

John pulled his boyfriend down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around him. "How long do we let him chill before we start playing with him?"

Sherlock shrugged looking to his brother, as if for advice.

"Might I suggest a few things?" Mycroft asked.

"Go for it," Sherlock offered. "You're the expert in this sort of thing."

"Give him food. And a drink. Don't let him down, that would be stupid… but if you want the attention away from the pair of you, that's a good way to start."

John fetched a glass of water and some biscuits. At the Holmes brothers' odd look, he shrugged. "It's all we have. Unless you count the ears or the spoilt milk in the fridge. Who wants the honours?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "He strapped Semtex to my boyfriend. Me obviously."

"Do you know someone else who would enjoy this?" Mycroft asked. "Someone that was as effected by it as you, John?"

"Gavin," Sherlock answered with a grin.

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Really? You'd risk bringing him in on this?"

"Remember the old woman?" Sherlock asked. "I'm quite certain Lestrade does as well." He turned to Mycroft. "But I think you should be the one to bring him in on this."

Mycroft inclined his head. "Of course. I'll send a car to collect him."

"You mean…" Sherlock frowned. "He knows?"

"Of course, Sherlock, don't be an idiot."

The detective glared at his brother. "Why would you risk that without speaking with me first?"

"Gregory is hardly an imbecile." Mycroft pointed out. "He would have noted a change in your behaviour as well as John's. It wouldn't have been long before he started asking questions."

"But we are missing out on the most obvious," Mycroft continued. The detective was still glaring. "He's my boyfriend. I wouldn't go out with an imbecile."

Sherlock blinked for a moment, then pulled a face. "How long have you been dating?"

"For over a year, 'Lock." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Must have deleted it." The detective shuddered.

John laughed. "Right, well are you going to go and feed the monster or can I?" The doctor stared for a moment. "Maybe we shouldn't be giving him tasty food. And they are the only things that you actually eat," John pointed out.

"Just the water, then." Sherlock grabbed a biscuit and bit into it with relish. "Yes, far too good for dear old Jim." Taking the water bottle, he headed down to C. When he entered, he stepped over to the cross and stood there for a moment, just watching. After a bit, he reached out and touched Moriarty's cheek with a single finger. The trussed up man jerked violently, letting out a string of profanities. Sherlock removed the headphones and the earplugs, using the modifier to speak to him. "If I remove the gag, you'll get a drink if you behave."

Jim turned his head immediately towards the detective. Other than that, he didn't move for several long moments. When he did, it was to nod.

Sherlock unfastened and removed the gag, setting it aside, then he held the bottle of water to Jim's lips. The consulting criminal swallowed a few sips of water, then stopped, holding a mouthful with the intention of spitting it in his captor's face.

Sherlock just casually stepped aside allowing the other man to spit the water. "Enjoying yourself?" The modified voice said from behind the prisoner.

"I. Will cut. Your eyes. Out." Moriarty spat.

"I highly doubt that." The detective walked around Jim, being sure to make enough noise to be tracked. He raised the bottle back to the man's lips. "By all means waste more by spitting it. You won't get me with any of it. You're far too stupid compared to me." That wasn't exactly true, Sherlock thought absently, but Moriarty didn't know that.

This time, Moriarty drained the bottle, sucking it dry. He knew it might be some time before he was offered more to drink. He'd held his fair share of people prisoner. Jim wasn't concerned. Not too much. He knew all the tricks, all the ways his captors would try to manipulate him and he was confident he would find his moment to act and escape.

The fact was he was overconfident and Sherlock knew it because he had no idea who had him tied up in the first place.

The detective shrugged, wedged the gag back between his teeth and dropped the headphones back over his ears. With that he headed back upstairs.

Halfway up, the outer door to 221 opened. Greg stepped in and looked down towards C. He met Sherlock's eyes and gave a nod. "I take it your houseguest is nice and comfortable. If not, good." He let the younger man pass him and followed him up to B.

Sherlock rounded on him at the door. "You could have told me you knew."

"I figured you would have deduced it." Lestrade shrugged. "Anyway, you know now."

Sherlock threw him the voice modifier. "In case you want to have a bit of fun, I'm sure my brother brought another one for me."

"I'm an officer of the law, it wouldn't be right."

"You're also in a relationship with my brother and use me to solve your cases. You know as well as I do, what he is getting doesn't compare to the damage he's caused."

"No. Quite right." He held up the modifier. "Thanks."

Inside B, Greg went straight to Mycroft's side and looked at the feed on the laptop. "I don't like it. He's too calm." He took his boyfriend's hand. "Shouldn't he be unnerved? At least a bit."

"He's overconfident, Gregory." Mycroft kissed Lestrade's knuckles. "Want to play good cop, bad cop? Sherlock's already presented himself as the providing hand. So long as he uses the same settings on the voice modulator, he can keep that up. It's ideal, really."

"Shouldn't we leave him for a bit first?"

"Why?"

"You know… let him stew in his juices. We do it with suspects… allows them to think things through."

"Where's the fun in that?" Sherlock put his arms around both their shoulders. "Besides, he expects that. Why play by the rules?"

"He's got a point," John agreed. "I think."

"Ok, then we turn the air con up," Mycroft offered.

Sherlock grinned. "Big brother, you're a genius."

"Did he just say that?" John asked.

The DI was looking between them, "You are enjoying yourself far too much." Then he shrugged. "Oh, well."

Greg hefted the voice modifier. "I'll turn it up," he offered. "I'd like to see how he's getting on first hand."

"Alright, Gregory." Mycroft stood. "I'll go with you." He stared at the screen a moment. "Perhaps..." He looked at his brother. "I might toy with him a bit."

"Has this got anything to do with the whole protection thing?" Sherlock complained.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. "After what he did to you. And John. Yes." With that he turned and headed down the stairs with the DI.

They entered C and closed the door behind them. The elder Holmes walked over and stood, looking at Jim. He wasn't certain he was doing the right thing, indulging his brother in this. It would be so much more expedient just to kill the crminal mastermind. If the man became loyal to Sherlock, he could prove to be a useful tool. Still, he had threatened his brother... Mycroft backhanded him across the face. Jim seemed to be caught completely off guard.

It was obvious to both Mycroft and his boyfriend that Moriarty had a few witty comebacks lined up if he was given the choice.

"Should I remove the gag so he can talk?" Greg asked, his voice warped.

Mycroft shook his head no, intent on maintaining his own silence for now.

"Good. I didn't fancy listening to him whinge, anyway."

He thrashed in his bonds. Showing his teeth around the gag, he tried to spit obscenities at them.

Mycroft laughed into the voice modifier. "This is fun."

That earned him a growl from Moriarty.

"And this will be fun too." Mycroft punched him. He wanted the man to identify his modified voice as that of a clear adversary.

Greg's modified voice was a little squeakier. He should have been angry at the older man. He should have been putting his foot down. He was a copper. He protected people… and then he realised who exactly was in front of him: the man that had killed an undetermined number of people and the British Government himself.

Mycroft gave a sharp satisfied nod, then looked around for the thermostat. He walked over and set it even cooler.

Greg stepped closer to him and, his voice still modulated, asked, "Is that it?"

Mycroft chuckled evilly. "Oh no, I don't think so…"

He circled around the Irishman, knowing there wasn't a single thing Jim could do about it or even know he was doing it. He picked up something from the nearby table, then set it down and moved to the next object. He did it over and over, hoping to build up tension. Mycroft settled on the riding crop. He ran it along the underside of Moriarty's chin and then down his side. He went down his right with it and then up his left. Smacking it softly over each nipple.

Moriarty thrashed trying to pull free. He should have known by now he wasn't going to succeed.

The government official held the tip of the crop under Jim's chin and waited for the thrashing to stop. When it did, he pulled back and struck him hard across the chest.

Up in 221B Sherlock was sat comfortably on John's lap, watching the monitor. The doctor watched too, as Mycroft circled around the trussed up man, wielding the crop.

"Moriarty isn't taking it like I thought he would," John whispered, still not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Mm." Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Perhaps... Oh! Mycroft's missed something." He giggled. "Mycroft never misses stuff."

"Missed what?"

"Moriarty is into BDSM. We'll have to turn the intensity up a notch."

"So he thinks this is all a game?"

The detective shrugged. "For now, maybe. He knows my voice as the food one. Can you go and pull Mycroft out, I need to talk to him?

John grabbed a modulator and jogged down the stairs. Sherlock watched on the screen as his boyfriend entered C and held a brief conversation with his brother. Mycroft nodded, tossed the crop to the side, and the three men left the basement flat.

* * *

"Before you jump down my throat, Mycroft, listen," Sherlock waited until his older brother's frown had dissipated and he was prepared to listen.

Sherlock skipped back the monitor to when Mycroft first picked up the crop. "You were too busy enjoying yourself to really pay attention to what Moriarty was doing. Look." He pressed play and waited.

Mycroft frowned as he watched the scene play out. Moriarty reacted to each blow with muffled sounds and jerking limbs, but his head rested calmly back against the cross. His mouth would have been drawn into a smile if it weren't for the gag that prevented it.

"The sod was enjoying it," Mycroft growled.

"I don't think he was enjoying it to annoy you, either," Sherlock offered. "Maybe he thinks he's been taken by a friend or something? As a laugh or joke? Because if he does, we are going to have our work cut out for trying to break him."

Greg was shocked by Mycroft's sudden smile. "Myc-"

"This really won't be boring. Moriarty presents challenge." The government official looked at his brother. "This should keep you occupied for quite some time."

"Yes, Lestrade, you may have to do without my assistance on cases for a while." Sherlock bit his lip as he thought. "We need a way to make him understand that we're not his friends and this isn't a game."

"Cut his balls off?" John offered. It seemed serious until he burst out laughing.

"Of course not, John, I can have far too much fun with those."

John smacked his arse cheek. "As long as you come back to my bed, I don't care."

"Hm," Sherlock considered, "in all seriousness, it's a thought. Not cutting them off, obviously, but making him wish they were."

Greg shuddered. "It would take a hell of a lot to make a bloke wish that."

"There we go then… that's what we do," Sherlock announced. "We do the more hard core side of this… BDSM thing. The side he's least likely to enjoy."

The detective abruptly swept from the room and dashed down to the basement flat. He didn't bother with speaking or trying to be quiet. What he did was grab up several clothes pegs and turn to face Moriarty. Sherlock knew the pegs were commonly used in BDSM, but he also knew that most people only left them on briefly, several minutes at most. That was something he had no intention of doing, he'd leave them on indefinitely and replace them with something worse.

The headphones and the blindfold meant the only thing Moriarty was aware of was a change in air distribution. He had no idea who was with him or what was about to happen, so when something sharp bit into his nipple he let out a huff of surprise around his gag.

Sherlock placed a peg on the consulting criminal's other nipple, then he dropped his attention lower. He worked quickly and efficiently to run a line of pegs along Moriarty's cock and then placed several on his scrotum.

Moriarty attempted to buck, his legs in particular, but of course he wasn't going anywhere.

The door opened, but only Sherlock turned to look. It was John clearly coming to play.

"Shall we let our new pet talk?" The detective asked, his voice far deeper than usual.

The doctor inclined his head. "I think we should. Let him know who his knew owners are."

Removing the gag, Sherlock tossed it aside. Moriarty remained stubbornly silent, so the detective, tweaked the peg on his right nipple.

"Who are you?" the consulting criminal ground out.

Sherlock glanced at John with a raised eyebrow. "Let's stick to 'Master' shall we?"

"Piss off," he spat.

Just like hours before, Sherlock side stepped the spit.

"Pets need to be better behaved than that," John decided to join the conversation.

"I'm no one's pet," Moriarty spat. "I collect pets. When my people find me, you'll make fine additio-"

John punched the man in the face. Now that he had committed himself to this whole heartedly, he saw no reason to hold back. "Go ahead. Keep talking."

For some reason though, wisdom descended and Jim closed his mouth.

John patted his cheek. "There, there. Good pet."

Moriarty jerked his head around and snapped his teeth closed hard, trying to bite the hand at his cheek, but John had been watching for such a move and pulled his hand away in time.

"And now our pet is misbehaving. That simply can't be allowed."

Sherlock knelt down and began flicking at the pegs. "Good little puppy's learn when to be have." He slowly but surely began to pluck off each peg individually. Taking his time to exam each one.

"Spear," Sherlock called to John, using his pre-discussed code name. "These pegs were woefully inadequate. We need something that will make more of an impression."

"Such as?" John quizzed.

"To be discussed outside on a later date," Sherlock responded. Although his mind was racing through the varied amount of clamps he could get his hands on.

"Alright, Crash," John deferred to Sherlock's decision. "Shall we leave him for a bit?"

"Crash? What the-" Moriarty's complaint was cut off as Sherlock wedged the gag back in his mouth.

"If you're a good little doggie, you may get food in the morning."

They left him alone in the room and stopped out in the hall. When the door was shut, Sherlock let his disbelief show. "John, you surprised me."

The doctor tilted his head to the side. "We all know it's going to take more than a few playful swats to break him. I decided it was time to get started."

"Yes, but you. You're a doctor."

"So? What was the point of letting you do this if I couldn't play a part as well?"

"I suppose…" but Sherlock didn't seem convinced.

"I just think of that old lady… that block of flats."

Those things worked for the doctor, but it was the desire to preserve Moriarty's intelligence that drove Sherlock. That, and thinking of John wrapped in Semtex. He pressed John against the wall. "No matter how this turns out, never doubt that your safety comes first."

"Ok." John looked puzzled. "Where did that come from?"

Sherlock grabbed either side of his head and kissed him passionately. "I know this is hard for you. My reasonings for doing it make it hard for me too. But I need to know as well as you that you have to come first."

"Hey, I know that." John grabbed him by the wrists and held on tight. "Don't ever doubt it. We're just defusing a rather unconventional bomb."


	2. Revelations

'Crash' and 'Spear' weren't code names Moriarty was familiar with. Still, Moran had probably told the two men to use those names when he had set up this little scene. Oh, how Moriarty loved these scenes. He couldn't wait to see how this one played out. He hoped Seb made his appearance soon, or things would get dull.

Much to Sherlock's annoyance, Mycroft had demanded his attention outside of Baker Street.

A matter of 2 hours after the pair left Moriarty on his own once again, the government official had been called away, half an hour later, the other three had had to follow.  
  
The detective wanted nothing more than to be back at 221B, supervising the remaking of Moriarty. Despite what his brother said, nothing was more important. He...

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called, trying to get his attention.

The detective's head rocked back "This isn't fair, Mycroft. You get me a new toy and then take it away. Just like when we were children."

"They were my toys and you took them. Now pay attention."

The detective compromised, he half paid attention. The rest of his attention was on Jim and what it would ultimately take to break him and put him back together again as a harmless, but still intelligent and useful pet.

"Sherlock!"

"What now?" He snapped. Then realised it was John talking to him.

"We can go. Crisis adverted apparently."

"Finally." Sherlock got up and wrapped his Belstaff around himself tightly. "It was all boring nonsense anyway. Come along, John." He started for the door without looking to see if his friend was following.

As soon as they were in the back of the cab, John leant over and snogged the detective. "It wasn't all boring. That could have been quite an interesting case if the need had arisen."

"Not interested." Sherlock kissed him back. "I have other things on my mind." He shifted so their thighs touched. "Have you had any good ideas?"

"I only wish it was me that made you find cases of an 8 or a 9 boring."

Sherlock looked across at him and pouted, that hadn't been the response he'd been hoping for.

"And don't go on a sulk. That certainly won't make me feel any better." John patted Sherlock's knee. "I'm sure he's nice and bored by now. That should count for something."

"Yeah, like me!"

John shook his head, laughing softly. He reached up, snagged Sherlock's curls and pulled his head down to rest in his lap. "Do I bore you, babe?" John asked as he stroked Sherlock's curls.

"No," the detective replied begrudgingly. "You keep me right. It's just-"

"I know, you have a new toy."

"That phrase throwing the dolly out the pram is quite parallel to you right now. He's our dolly."

John grinned, as the cab pulled up and they climbed out, he took the detective's hand. Before the Sherlock could pull his way towards C, John shook his head. "Nope, babe. You're eating something first. Then you, or rather we can play."

"But, John-"

"No buts. You're eating if I have to sit on you to get you to do it." He dragged Sherlock up to B and into the kitchen where he pushed him down into a chair.

The doctor had never seen his boyfriend eat so fast. He quickly shovelled away the toast on the plate in front of him and then another slice when John forced it on him.

"Can we play now?" He whined.

"Yes, babe, we can play now." John ruffled his hair. "Don't forget the voice modifiers if you plan on us talking to him.

Sherlock scooped them up on the way out of the flat. "I don't necessarily plan on talking to him, per se, but I can't go too long without talking to you. Spear."

"Shut it." He clipped Sherlock on the back of the head and braced himself for Moriarty.

When they entered C, it was chilly, though it wasn't so bad as to give their guest hypothermia.

Sherlock walked over and, hooking a finger under the leather buckle of the gag, turned Jim's head towards him.

He was still blindfolded, still deaf.

John flicked the lights on and grinned at the limp form hanging from the cross.

Sherlock circled around behind him and prodded at his hole with his finger. That caused Moriarty to jerk and go stiff. He growled, showing his displeasure.

The detective plunged his finger all the way in and this time the consulting criminal threw his head back and smiled aroung the gag. He still thought this was part of Moran's game.

"I think we need to clean him out," Sherlock spoke eventually.

He glanced up and saw that John was already at a wooden bench in the corner, setting up a few enema bags and nozzles. The corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. He plucked the headphones off, more than happy for him to hear them.

The doctor picked up the prepared bags and approached the cross. He tossed the first bag to Sherlock. "It's a bit cool. I doubt he's going to like that much."

"All the better, Spear."

Moriarty shifted his hips as Sherlock pressed a now lubed finger into his hole.

John slapped their guest on the hip. "Keep still!" He barked. It was so sharp that the Irishman actually froze.

The detective pulled his finger out and replaced it with the nozzel to the bag. He leaned around and warned Jim, "If you lose a drop before we tell you you can, I'll break the cane on you." He didn't intend to do any such thing, but Moriarty didn't know that.

"Is that understood?" John added.

Moriarty's head jerked up and down a few times.

"Good," the detective answered, he hung the bag on a nearby hook and twisted the notch to release the flow.

"He's thirsty," Sherlock said.

John frowned, but his expression soon turned to one of recognition. "I'd better get him a drink then."

As John left to fetch a bottle, Sherlock replaced the headphones. He watched Moriarty's face as it slowly grew tense. It was an expression he had never seen on his face before.

John handed Sherlock a bottle of water that he had opened. "I'll get the gag for you," the doctor offered.

"If he promises to behave… oh, he can't hear us."

John smirked and unbuckled the gag slowly.

"We need a gag with a hole in it. We won't need to keep taking it off then," Sherlock noted.

"I'm sure a friend probably has a drill," John mused. "I imagine he could drill a hole through one of these things." He held the unforgiving ball gag up, then he tossed it aside. Next, he placed a straw in Moriarty's mouth.

The criminal mastermind had clearly worked out what there plan was and he wasn't playing ball.

Sherlock actually grinned. "You'd better drink, boy, or we'll force it through your nose."

Jim still didn't drink. It wasn't until John placed the straw at his nostril that the consulting criminal cried out, "Okay, I'll drink!" The doctor moved the straw back to Moriarty's mouth and he began to drink, he didn't really have much of a choice.

John's grin matched Sherlock's as he moved to the stairs and came back with a few more bottles.

Jim was showing signs of distress from the enema. He was clenching his fists and his jaw, but he clearly refused to beg for relief.

"You'd better keep drinking," Sherlock warned, somehow making his voice go even deeper.

He spat out the straw. "No."

"Tut tut."

"I know your game," Jim coughed and thrashed in his restraints.

Sherlock looked about. "This is going to ultimately make a mess, but I suppose Jim can survive that for a bit." He took another enema bag and replaced the original one. "Remember, don't spill a drop, not yet."

Sherlock looked around for something to place beneath the criminal mastermind. Unless they could get cooperation out of him to clean up his own mess (unlikely) it would leave them to.

"What if I do?" Jim asked.

"We'll keep filling your arse and plug it so you can't spill a drop. Hm? How does that sound?" John asked as he twisted one of Jim's nipples. "In fact, why don't we go ahead and do that now?"

Sherlock seemed to ponder it for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe because there's not enough up there yet?" He poked at Jim's stomach.

"Seb, I know that's you."

"No, Jim, it's really not," Sherlock said from just behind him. "And the sooner you realise that, the sooner we can get on to the real fun."

"Now, drink," John ordered, forcing the straw back between his teeth.

"No."

"I don't want to have to force you," the doctor said with mock sadness.

Moriarty clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut. In response, John held his nose until the consulting criminal had to open his mouth and gasp for a breath. Having removed the straw, the doctor upended the bottle, pouring water down his throat. He coughed and spluttered through the water.

"Don't worry about wasting it, Jim. There's plenty more."

That made the criminal mastermind start thrashing again, despite the pain in his bowels.

Sherlock disappeared for a bit. When he came back, he had a large bucket that he placed under Jim. He patted Moriarty on the arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Like you care," he spat.

Sherlock shrugged, but he had to remember he was the voice who had given him some calming comforts earlier that day. He couldn't completely back track on that now.

"I need to know how much you can take," the detective told Jim. I wouldn't want to push your limits too hard. He stroked his fingers along the criminal mastermind's jawline. If he could get him to talk, maybe they could learn where to push.

"Crash, google says he's nowhere near the limit, yet."

Sherlock held in his laugh. He knew damned well it was John who had worked out the capacity, not google, he would never trust it.

He supposed telling Moriarty that one of them had worked it out would reveal too much.

Sherlock grabbed up one more enema bag and switched it out for the used one. He was sure Jim would be able to take it, but he couldn't calculate how long he'd be able to hold it. It depended on how acclimated he was to such things.

"Stop," he complained, his voice shallow. "No more."

The detective and the doctor shared glances.

Sherlock's shrug was clearly asking what they should do.

John shook his head. They had to push his limits, not let him dictate them.

With a nod, Sherlock let the bag fill him a bit more. Jim started moaning and squirming. It was only then that Sherlock removed the enema bag.

"Drink," John ordered again.

Moriarty shook his head from side to side, pulling at his restraints as if that would help.

"Drink," he repeated.

This time when Jim shook his head, John heaved a sigh and pinched Moriarty's nose closed again. This time, the consulting criminal quit fighting immediately and opened his mouth to accept the water.

"Right, that's enough," John decided. He nodded in Sherlock's direction and he switched off the flow of water from the enema bag.

"Need to piss," Moriarty snapped.

John reached down and grasped his cock in his fist. "Don't you dare. Or I'll plug it up as well!"

"No you fucking wont! I said I need to piss!" Jim's yell was full of fury. "I'll bloody well piss when I want to."

Sensing he meant it, John jumped out of the way.

Sherlock had placed the bucket well.

While Jim was busy, John collected the sounding rods from the side.

Sherlock could clearly see what John had planned. Make him go through it all over again.

Moriarty made obscene sounds and swore the whole time the doctor worked. John couldn't care less. It was use these tactics to break and remould the man or know he would be summarily executed without trial. If Sherlock wanted to make the effort, they would.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock glanced up at one of the cameras. He left John to it and moved to see who it was. Closing the door behind him he switched off the voice changer. "Mycroft?"

"Yes, little brother. Are you having fun, yet?"

Sherlock scowled. "He still thinks this was set up by Moran. It's infuriating."

Mycroft smirked. "And how do you plan on changing his mind?"

"Well… John is being rather… thorough."

"Do you require my assistance?" Mycroft asked, leaning his umbrella up against the wall.

"Require, no, but you're more than welcome to join us."

"I believe I will, then."

They entered C and stood there watching John work. Mycroft was rather impressed with his skill.

He'd fitted a small plug to the end of the bound and thrashing man's cock and was in the middle of forcing more water into him.

At the first respite John gave him, Jim gasped out, "There's someone there. I can tell, someone new. Who did you bring to play, Sebby?"

Mycroft pulled his voice modular from his pocket and spoke into it.

The criminal mastermind froze, that was the voice who had been… cruel, earlier.

"Ah, dearest Jim, you do remember me," Mycroft said as he moved closer. He stood so close that surely Moriarty could smell him. "There's something you should know. I. Don't. Like. You."

"Definitely Seb then."

Mycroft reached down and grabbed his trapped cock until the younger man yelped in pain. "What was that?"

"I said this was definitely arranged by Seb."

"Keep guessing." Mycroft twisted Jim's cock painfully. "This time you've guessed wrong."

John cleared his throat, the voice crackly.

Mycroft glanced up at him and he tilted his head slightly. The sound was deeply imbedded in his cock now and anything rougher would do damage.

"Shall we empty him out and start again?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John forced a straw back into Jim's mouth. "Drink." Jim drank the water, despite the pain in his cock, or perhaps it was because of it. When John was satisfied that he'd had enough, the government official let go. He wiped his hand on Moriarty's cheek.

"You really are a pathetic creature," Mycroft sneered.

Jim bared his teeth and snarled. John snatched up the ball gag and rammed it back in his mouth.

"How long shall we leave him? All full to the brim?" Sherlock asked the others.

"Hm, did you plug him?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes. Spear was too busy to notice."

"Then let's watch and see how long it takes him to beg," the elder Holmes suggested.

John wasn't convinced that Jim would beg at all, but he certainly didn't mind waiting to find out.

Mycroft pointed at the kettle in the corner. "Put that on. We may as well enjoy ourselves." He settled himself in one of the chairs.

John washed his hands, then put the kettle on. A glare at the Holmeses had them washing their hands as well. Once that was done and the kettle was on, John sat in Sherlock's lap to wait for the water to heat. The detective patted John's hip after some time and he headed to the kettle.

Sherlock headed towards their bound captive and replaced the headphones. That didn't stop them using their modulators.

Jim was writhing on the cross and definitely looked uncomfortable. He growled out something unintelligible around his gag.

Sherlock just laughed and poked him in his full belly, then he unbuckled the gag. "Something to say, Jimmy boy?"

Behind him, John barked out a laugh, knowing he couldn't hear.

"Get me off of this thing!" Moriarty shouted.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Sherlock said in a sad tone of voice.

"I'll break your knee caps when I get down from h-"

John laughed again, it was almost as if he could hear.

The detective shoved the gag back in place. "Sorry about that, but you were getting yourself all worked up." Sherlock turned to the others. They both were holding mugs of tea. "Do you think he still believes it's Seb?"

"There's one way to make sure he knows it's not his precious Seb," John observed. "We could take off the mask."

The two brothers looked at one another, seeming to have one of their silent conversations.

"What do we gain by doing that?" Sherlock asked eventually.

"Apart from him knowing it's us. Nothing."

"And what do we gain by leaving it on?"

"Well you're hardly worried about the repercussions of this," Mycroft answered. "You've got me in on it and the DI at the Yard."

"I want it off," John growled, surprising both Holmses. "I want him to know just who has him. He won't take us seriously at first, but I think that will change." His left hand clenched into a fist. He wanted this to be done as soon as possible and Moriarty to be broken and rendered 'safe'.

Sherlock's gaze flickered towards his brother. "I can't think of a good enough reason not to go with John on this. In fact I can't think of any reason not to go with him."

"Who will do the honours?" Mycroft asked.

"Sherlock," John said firmly. "It'll come as a bigger shock if it's him, yeah?"

"I don't know," the government official pondered out loud. "Moriarty has always underestimated you, John. I think it should be you who does it."

John thought for a moment. "Alright. But you two stand behind him. And I'm not doing it until he begs for relief."

Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock?"

The detective was poking his stomach again. "Maybe Greg should be here too."

"Fine. He doesn't think much of Greg either. We can do it together." John opened another bottle of water and removed the gag. "You must be parched. Here, have some water."

"Piss off," Jim hissed. He was trying to bring his legs closer to his chest but obviously wasn't succeeding.

"Oh? Is that painful?"

Mycroft had called Greg and he was on his way over. He put his phone away with a smirk. It would be delightful to see Moriarty's reaction when the blindfold came off.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs Mycroft moved to the door to let him in. He kissed him thoroughly before whispering. "We've got a plan." The government official explained everthing to his boyfriend who stared at Jim over his shoulder. Greg nodded and took the voice modulator from Mycroft. It looked to him as though Jim would start begging at any moment. He settled in the seat Mycroft had vacated ready to enjoy the show.

"You've got m-more friends than I… I thought, Seb," Moriarty whimpered out.

This time it was Greg who pressed on his belly even as John forced more water down his throat.

"No! No, please, no more, Seb. You have to get me off this thing. Please, Seb. I'll be good. I'll even crawl for you to the loo."

John let his eyebrow raise and then nodded.

The two Holmeses walked around the back, leaving both Greg and John stood in front. The doctor reached forward and snatched the blindfold off.

Jim's eyes went wide. "You!" His whole body jerked as he tried to get to John, but couldn't. "And you!" he spat at Greg. "I'll kill you both."

John slapped Moriarty hard. "No you fucking won't. You're ours now."

Moriarty had the audacity to burst out laughing.

Both John and the DI folded their arms just as one set of hands played with the nozzle in his arse and another set fiddled with the plug in the sound.

"Who?" He tried to look around and see who was touching him, but the way he was strapped kept him from seeing. "Who's helping you?"

"You're a genius," Greg said, "Figure it out. It's certainly not your Seb."

In a few seconds Mycroft's head popped into view. "Hello, Jimmy."

"Mycroft. What are you doing here, Ice Man?"

It was Sherlock who reacted first. He reached around and snagged his cock as Moriarty began to pee.

Before long, the bucket that Sherlock had strategically placed was full. The question was, did they start over again or move onto something different. He stepped around so he could be seen.

"Thanks for holding my cock, babe," Jim said in a flirtatious manner.

John's temper flared and he kneed the man in the bollocks.

Mycroft's hand that had been twitching beside him swung a punch.

The criminal mastermind's head reared back and collided with the cross. Sherlock stepped in front so his older brother had to back off slightly.

"My night in shining armour," Jim grinned as blood dripped from his lip.

This time it was Sherlock who punched him.

Greg shrugged. He thought the whole thing had been handled nicely.

"Here's the rules," John said. "You do what we say, when we say. We do what we want to do. Right now, you don't talk."

Jim spat blood and grinned. "But Johnny Boy, I like the sound of my own voice. Haven't you figuted that out?"

John actually returned the grin and ever so causally pushed the gag back between his teeth, Sherlock reached up and gripped his hair to keep him still while he did it up.

"We have a problem, Moriarty," Sherlock said stepping back again. "We either kill you. Or fix you."

Jim laughed around the gag. They couldn't fix him. He didn't want to be fixed. He quite enjoyed his own brand of broken. Let them try, though.

"Is that a no? You want to die?" Mycroft stepped up close to him and gripped his throat in his hand. "I would be more than willing to test that theory."

Jim shook his head slowly. He didn't intend to die, not yet. He'd bide his time, then he'd get free. When he did, they'd all pay.

"No," Sherlock said, "I don't think you'll be getting away from us. You're here for as long as I say you are."

His look clearly said 'as long as you say?' Even as he glanced at Mycroft.

"Yes, Jim. This was my idea. My brother wants you dead. Too much trouble from you and that'll likely be the end of this. These two are in it for their own reasons."

"I want him clean," the detective decided. "John if you'll give him something to make him pliant, we'll wash him off in the bath, then we can decide what to do next."

Moriarty thrashed again, he was struggling with the idea that the four people who were supposedly the 'good guys' had just filled him up and emptied him like a teapot. He was thrown even more when John injected him with something that soon had him feeling weak as a kitten. The good doctor didn't do that kind of thing.

They waited for it to take full effect, then they unstrapped him from the cross and dragged him to the bathroom where he was given a quick but thorough cleaning.

Moriarty woke up hours later in the exact position he had fallen asleep in, or rather had been forced asleep in.

There was no blindfold. No headphones, but he was still gagged and he had something huge shoved up his arse. Which was fine. He could ignore that. What he found difficult to ignore were the clamps that bit viciously into his bollocks. He expected to see Sherlock, but the detective was nowhere in sight. Instead there was the older Holmes stood there, alone.

"You've had this coming for a long time. But attacking my brother… that was too far." Mycroft reached out and grabbed the chain that connected the clamps together. He pulled on them viciously, actually eliciting a muffled cry from Moriarty. "If he gets tired of you or gives up on you, I'll see to it that you die painfully. Keep my brother happy. Do everything he tells you to do." He pulled on the chain harder just to see the pain on Jim's face. He removed the gag, still gripping the chain. "Say 'yes, sir,' Moriarty."

Jim's cries were louder now that the gag was gone.

"Say it," he hissed.

"Yes, sir!" He clearly didn't mean it. He only said it to make the pain stop. It didn't.

"Now, he doesn't know I'm down here. He doesn't know we're having this conversation and he isn't going to find out. Agree with me again."

"Yes, sir!"

"That's a good boy. Now if you tell him I was here, I'll have these removed," Mycroft cupped Moriarty's bollocks in his hand. "I don't think you would like that, but it might make you less aggressive. Do enjoy yourself whilst you wait for my brother." Mycroft replaced the gag and attached it to the cross, keeping his head back and still. Then he turned on his heel, gathered up his umbrella and climbed the stairs.


	3. A Careless Attempt

John sat on Sherlock's lap, a plate with a sandwich on it in his hand. "You need to eat something, babe. It's been a while since that toast you had earlier."

Sherlock took the sandwich and started eating, but his mind was already downstairs with Moriarty.

"I've completely lost you, haven't I?" the doctor asked.

Sherlock froze, the sandwich in his hand dropping back to the plate. He looked up to try and kiss the doctor, but John moved away. "No, John. You haven't lost me."

"I'm not so sure."

"You should be. Moriarty is a puzzle to master. You are my heart." Sherlock blushed when he realised how sentimental that had sounded.

John got to his feet and put the plate on the table. "This last week, since you've been planning this thing with Moriarty, you're not here, with me. You're there. With him."

"I won't go down today. "I'll leave it to Mycroft and Greg."

John shook his head. "It wouldn't matter. You're thoughts would be down there with them."

"Then I don't know what you want me to say, John." He got to his feet as well. "Should I just kill him now? Ignore the idea. Would that make you happy?"

"No, no," the doctor said wearily. "It's just... It's harder than I thought it would be. Not what we're doing to him, but what it's doing to us. We'll get through this, yeah." He stepped across and rested a hand on Sherlock's arm. "It won't last forever."

"John, there's no deadline for it. It takes as long as it takes. If he tried it with me it would take months, but I would have the knowledge people were looking for me. He doesn't have that."

"What about Seb, hm? Don't you think he expects Moran to be looking for him?"

Sherlock looked grim. "He won't once we lie to him, something along the lines of Moran being shot and killed when Jim was captured."

"That's low."

"I'm not just going to come out and say it. I think we should keep that to ourselves for now. Maybe in the future we can use it to crack him if nothing else works."

John took a deep breath and braced himself for another visit to C. "Right. Let's get this next bit over with, then." He reached out and took Sherlock's hand, needing the reassurance of his touch and they headed downstairs. "Where are Greg and Mycroft?"

They walked into the room downstairs and there was still no sign of them. Just Moriarty looking pissed off and slightly more dejected than before his little shower.

"John, I believe the cross can be tilted so it makes a table. Would you mind helping me with it?"

Together, they found the release catch and flattened the cross out, locking it in place. Now Jim could only look at the ceiling.

They had taken the sound out when they'd washed him so Jim's cock was flaccid, laying between his legs. He didn't seem to want to spit the vitriol he had earlier.

Sherlock unfastened the gag and Moriarty still didn't seem inclined to talk. "Interesting tactic," the detective observed, "but temporary good behaviour isn't what we're looking for. What we need is deep down change." He went and picked up the most vicious flogger they had. Anything less would be a toy to Jim. The criminal mastermind watched him circle the bench with it but he still didn't speak. "John, fetch a cane and whip his cock. I'll whip the rest of him."

For the first time, Jim felt a sense of trepidation. There were no safewords here, though he had scorned them in the past. He jerked and pulled at his restraints, trying to get free.

"Aww, John, look. The boy is scared." He pushed the gag back between his lips.

"Don't be mean, Sherlock."

"Me? Being mean. Never."

John snorted.

"I was merely observing a fact." Sherlock, without taking his gaze from John, brought the flogger down hard across Jim's chest. If it wasn't for the gag, the Irishman would have yelled out in pain more than the muffled amount he actually did.

John noticed the glare Jim directed at Sherlock and didn't like it. He'd rather have his ire directed at him. He used the cane, swinging it to come down on the consulting criminal's cock.

A muffled "fuck!" Was the response and John grinned.

"Good. Now close your eyes," the doctor ordered. Jim refused, so John let the cane drop again. "You will learn to do what you are told! Close. Your. Eyes."

The consulting criminal glared at John, but one more strike with the cane had him squeezing his eyes shut. His hands were clenched into fists and he was breathing hard.

"Open your eyes," John ordered this time.

Sherlock let the flogger fall, but his attention was on the doctor beside him, he seemed to know exactly what to do.

Moriarty growled, but opened his eyes. He glared daggers at John.

"You don't like that very much," the doctor said in a mocking tone. "Such a shame." He dropped the cane again, this time on his bollocks.

"You'll learn to do as you are told, Jimmy boy. Trust me on that." Sherlock took John's free hand in his. "Because if you don't, it's going to hurt." The detective walked around the table and gave John a one armed hug. He whispered into his ear. "You are brilliant at this. Thank you." He turned back to Jim and let the flogger fly, coming down on his thigh.

The flogger's strikes were sharp and the cane fell relentlessly. Soon the duo had Moriarty sniffing, clearly trying to prevent himself from crying in front of the two 'enemies'. They kept at it until a single tear slipped from Jim's right eye.

Sherlock tossed the flogger to the side. "Let's leave him to bask in the after glow."

John set the cane aside. "Agreed. Besides, I need to rest my arm for the next round."

The pair walked out leaving Moriarty sniffling to himself.

An hour later Sherlock walked back downstairs alone. He had decided with John on that since it was the idea the detective' would show the Irishman kindness after each session, hopefully breaking down his walls as they went. Sherlock had also promised that this would be the last time Moriarty held his attention today.

The first thing Sherlock did was tilt the cross back upright. He made a great show of tutting over Moriarty's bruises. "I know you're hurting, but this should help." He rubbed a soothing cream into each of the welts. Moriarty watched him cautiously, not really understanding why he was offering aftercare. When the detective was done he worked around the cross and attached cuffs to his wrists and ankles, then fitted a belt around his waist, Jim didn't fight him as he tightened it up. "I am an going to release one leg. Fight me and I'll get John to sedate you."

The criminal mastermind was shattered, he'd offer his resistance in the morning.

In no time flat, Sherlock had his feet chained together and his wrists buckled to the belt. He tugged him by the collar over to a thin mattress in one corner, then he kicked him to his knees. A padlock slipped into place, attaching the leash to the collar and then the leash to the wall. Last of all, he removed the gag.

Jim didn't trust anything Sherlock was doing. Still, the mattress looked inviting.

"Go ahead," the detective urged him. "You're going to need your rest. Get it while you can." Sherlock patted Jim on the head, then pushed him down on the mattress.

It was a struggle for him to roll over, but he was soon on his back, his arms pinned to his sides. Jim carried on watching as Sherlock attached the belt to the wall and then the ankle cuffs.

"Be good, Jimmy," Sherlock called over his shoulder, heading to the door.

John looked up from where he was stood by the fireplace when he heard Sherlock enter the flat. "Is he all tucked in?"

"Yes." The detective went and washed his hands and get the cream off of them. "I don't want to talk about him anymore today. I'm all yours."

John watched him cautiously for a moment, then spun his laptop around with the security feed playing. "He's barely moved since you left."

"Yup. And I don't care if he does." He picked the doctor's laptop up, dumped it on the table and then slid down to his lap.

"You don't care?" John asked, smiling.

"Nope. We can do whatever you like. I'll even eat something if you want me to. We can watch Bond." He kissed the doctor. "I know I've been neglectful."

"To be fair you were never the most loveydovey before Jim was dumped in our basement."

Sherlock smirked. "You have me until I need to deal with him in the morning."

"What I want is for you to get a shower. I feel the grime of Moriarty all over you. When you get back, I'll have made you something to eat, yeah?"

* * *

The following morning, Sherlock woke with John wrapped around him closely. "I'm not going to disappear, babe," the detective whispered. He hadn't been aware that John was awake to hear him.

The doctor went tense, his arms squeezing Sherlock tightly, but he didn't say anything.

"John, I promise. I'm right here with you."

In a rough voice, John asked, "What happens when this is over? When he's 'safe'? I know you find him fascinating, so where do I fit in?"

"Didn't last night help to prove something?"

John sat up on his elbows. "I enjoyed it, yes."

"Then quit worrying."

"For us normal people, it's not that simple." John sat up on the edge of the bed. "I'll try, though, for you." He let out a sigh. "After we eat, you'll need to feed him something."

Sherlock nodded, feeling rather depressed. He didn't move when John headed out to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, are you coming through for food or not?" When there was no reply John went to find him.

"I'll hand him over to Mycroft," Sherlock said softly.

"What?" John placed a hand to Sherlock's cheek. "No. We both know what happens if you do that." He reached down and kissed his boyfriend. "I'm a worrier, but I need to have faith in you. We'll do this together and you'll remind me how much you care about me when I need to hear it. We'll save the bastard whether he wants it or not." Sherlock didn't seem convinced and John sighed. He pushed a mug of tea into his hand. "Drink that. And then you can feed our new pet. I bought those disgusting bran flake things."

That at least got a chuckle out of the detective. "Oh, I'm sure he'll love those." He drank his tea, enjoying the warmth of it. "You'll watch on the laptop?"

"Of course. I want to see how he's feeling this morning."

"Do we give him a day off?"

"He only got here yesterday."

Sherlock nodded, "I know. But we need a plan. We aren't doing this for fun but to break him. We have an aim. How do we get there?"

"If you want to plan it out, I suppose leaving him in doubt for the day will serve to make him nervous. He'll wonder what we have planned for him."

"I'm wondering what we have planned for him."

John laughed.

"I'll go and feed him in a minute, you can reacquaint him with the flogger if you like while I sort some things out?" Spontaneously, Sherlock grabbed John and hugged him. "Thank you," he breathed into the doctor's hair. He let him go and took a step back, standing there awkwardly.

"Go." John jerked his head in the direction of the door.

Sherlock gathered up a bowl and the disgusting cereal and then poked his head back into the bedroom. "Won't be long with him." He dashed down the stairs, remarkably not spilling a drop. Going through into C, Sherlock grinned at Jim. "Good morning. I know you missed me."

Jim didn't move. Not even to glance at the door.

"Well don't stand on ceremony."

"I wasn't planning on it," Jim hissed.

"You can stay laying down all day if you want, Jimmy. Or I could let you sit up."

"I'll sit up."

Sherlock shook his head. "Ask nicely, Jim."

Moriarty looked over at the wall and refused to say anything.

"And here I brought you breakfast. How disappointing. Ask and you can eat."

He stayed facing away.

Sherlock shrugged and placed the bowl just out of Jim's reach. "You should count yourself lucky it isn't dog food." With that, Sherlock turned on his heel and headed out of C. He closed the door behind him and stood in the hall with his arms crossed. He'd go back in, but only after making Moriarty wait. At a sound, he looked up to see John coming down the stairs. He was in a hurry.

"Get back in there!" John barked.

"What? Why?"

John ignored him and raced down the stairs into Jim's new room. He quickly unwrapped the chain from their guest's collar to the wall from around his neck.

Sherlock was momentarily overtaken by shock, then he flew to John's side. "Is he dead?"

"No. He didn't have long enough." The doctor slapped Moriarty. "Open your eyes, dammit. You haven't passed out."

Moriarty's eyes snapped open and he glared, lashing out with his teeth.

Ever so calmly, John stepped back. "We can't leave him with that collar."

"There's a posture collar on the shelf. But he's going to be punished for that."

"Go ahead. I'll take it out of your hide when I get free," Jim growled out at the both of them.

"Oh, do shut up," Sherlock said as he glared at the consulting criminal.

"Collar first. Punishment later," John said firmly. The doctor folded his arms and stood over the Irishman, his foot pinning his chest to the floor while Sherlock went to fetch the collar. Between them, they had it buckled around his throat and him on his knees quickly.

"I take it Mr. Consulting Criminal didn't eat anything and when you left. Instead, he put on his little show." John kicked at the mattress. "Well, the cereal is bound to be mush. I say make him eat it before we move on to punishment. He'll be needing his strength, after all."

Jim just glared. "I'm not eating anything."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "You're acting like you have a choice. John, fetch the cane. His cock looks nice and raw. Beat it until he complies."

"Sure."

Jim growled and thrashed, all he managed to achieve was falling on his side.

The doctor gave Moriarty his best glare as he leaned on the cane in front of him. "Last chance, Jimmy."

The consulting criminal hissed and spat at him.

John shrugged and lifted the cane, letting it fall. With Jim on his side, John had perfect access to his cock and bollocks.

"I'm going to lock that up when you're done," Sherlock said from across the room. The detective fiddled with a cock cage tossing it in the air and catching it. He had several punishments in mind for the incident with the chain, one of which would not be letting him lie down. He'd sleep tied to the cross or the bench they hadn't brought out the cupboard yet. "Do you recognise this room, Jim?" He called over, playing with the cage so he knew the criminal mastermind would see it.

Moriarty shifted his glare from John to Sherlock. He couldn't bite back a cry of pain at the next blow the doctor delt. "Of course I do," he managed.

"Of course you do," Sherlock repeated. You know, John's very upset with you about how that whole game played out. And it started with a pair of shoes." He paced towards Moriarty and kicked him in the leg so he was forced to roll over. John stopped letting the cane fall while Sherlock was in the way. The detective knelt beside the Irishman and grabbed his no-doubt painful cock. "Did you chat to Mrs. Hudson? Threaten her? Do anything remotely you towards her."

"No," Jim gasped in pain. "No, the bitch wasn't home or I would have."

Sherlock twisted Moriarty's cock so hard, the consulting criminal screamed out. He didn't let go, just bit his lip until Jim was panting and writhing.

"Yes, she said no one had been down here. But you must have seen her. You wouldn't have just walked straight in without recc'ing the place first."

"Alright! I posed as a potential tenant. She made me tea. Fed me biscuits." Jim's face was screwed up and his breathing was ragged.

Sherlock climbed up his chest and gripped his face in his hand. "What did you say to her?" He ground out.

Jim wouldn't answer and the detective tightened his grip. John dropped his hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock."

"I want to know what he said!" the detective shouted.

"I know, but it couldn't have been bad or Mrs. Hudson would have said something. She knows better than to hide that kind of thing from you," John reassured his boyfriend.

Jim nodded. "Yes! I couldn't risk raising your suspicions."

Sherlock raised his fist, ready to clock him around the face.

"'Lock," John handed him the cane. "Make it constructive."

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and turned away for a moment. "You make it constructive," he kicked the bowl of cereal across the floor.

John looked at his friend. "Would it help to toss him out the upstairs window a few times?"

Jim's eyes went wide, not certain that the doctor was joking.

"It might." Sherlock said. "But that would rather defeat my purpose."

"Fine." He ushered Sherlock over to the corner and lowered his voice. "Then we tie him up uncomfortably. So he can't hurt himself. Leave him alone for a while until you've calmed down. You, more than any of us need to remain objective."

The detective breathed hard for a minute, his nostrils flaring, then he gave a curt nod. "You do it. Please. If I go near him-"

"Alright. Just try to calm down." John went back over to Jim. "We're going to do this slowly, so you don't get a chance to try anything. If you do, I'll just drug you again."

Jim's glare said it all.

John glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, that would inspire him as to what to do with the criminal mastermind. He fetched some rope, having decided to deal with Jim's arms first. "Sherlock, I do need you to keep an eye on him whilst I work, just in case." John waited until his friend turned around and approached, then he unbuckled one of Jim's wrists. He quickly slid the rope through the loop and spun him over. He held his wrist in one hand and then untied the other from the belt. Soon enough, John was wrapping the rope up and down his arms, bringing his shoulders closer and closer together. It couldn't have been comfortable.

The more uncomfortable Jim became, the more satisfied Sherlock became. "Make the ropes really tight, John. I want him to be miserable. I haven't even asked him about his 'dates' with Molly yet."

"Oh, he'll be uncomfortable, but I don't want to cut off his circulation. I just want to put a strain on his muscles."

"You're too picky."

"I may be a doctor, but I can't fix broken bones without some form of help."

"Then dislocate his shoulders."

John actually laughed until Moriarty began struggling.

"Watson! Get your fucking filthy hands off me!" Jim shouted.

Sherlock lunged for Moriarty and slapped him. "Watch your mouth. Especially when you're talking about John." It was all he could do not to punch the man, but he restrained himself. "Be grateful it's John touching you. If it was me doing it, I'd rip you to shreds."

Jim glanced over his shoulder and winked. John pressed his hand to his head and forced it, hard, into the mattress as he tied off the rest of the rope.

The doctor had completely immobilised Jim. The consulting criminal couldn't harm himself no matter how hard he tried.

"That should do it, babe." John stood up and admired his own handiwork. "Yep, I must say, I did an excellent job. Do you like it Jim?"

Jim was puffing in breath, clearly struggling to find a comfortable position.

John had used the rope to pull the Irishman's legs up behind him and join his feet to his hands.

It was almost impossible to hide his satisfied smirk and Sherlock didn't even try. Moriarty deserved so much worse. He gave himself a shake, reminding himself that this wasn't about revenge, but reshaping Jim into someone useful and safe. He circled around him for a moment, content he couldn't use anything nearby if by some strange magic trick he did fight his way free. He paused in front of him. "Kiss my foot," he ordered, sticking the toe of his shoe beneath Jim's head.

When Jim didn't immediately comply, John stepped in and pushed his head down so his lips touched Sherlock's foot. "We can stay like this all day," he said, applying a bit more pressure.

They stood that way for over a minute before Moriarty gave in and did as instructed. When John let him back up, Jim's eyes were full of hatred.

"That'll do," Sherlock said. He picked up the bowl and walked to the door.

John stayed where he was and after a moment, leant down to spin Jim over so his arms and legs were pinned uncomfortably beneath him. With a glance to make sure the camera still had Jim in frame, the doctor followed Sherlock from the flat.

"The thought of him breathing the same air as Mrs. Hudson-" the detective broke off, his fury threatening to get the better of him again.

John wrapped an arm around his waist. "Sh, hush now. He didn't hurt or threaten her. That's all that matters."

Sherlock climbed the rest of the stairs deep in thought. He collapsed in John's chair when he made to back to B and the doctor landed himself in his lap.

"Mrs. Hudson is attracted to mad men," the detective said eventually.

The doctor chuckled. "Yup, you included." He thought for a moment, then added, "And I suppose me too, if I'm being brutally honest. The only remotely normal man she likes is Greg and that's just because he puts up with us."

"He's hardly sane."

"Huh?"

"He's dating my brother. What remotely normal person would do that?"

"Fair point," John said, chuckling. "Do you feel better now? Less like maiming and killing? Or would you like to run an experiment to relax. I promise I won't even complain about the smell."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine


	4. Overstimulation

3 hours later and John was being boring, at least in Sherlock's eyes.

"You have to go and see him. You can't leave him tied up like that for much longer," the doctor insisted. 

The detective had perched on his chair with his knees under his chin. He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you want me to be nice to him too."

"Mm hm. You rather bodged it up the last time. I suggest that, as we untie and reposition him, you massage the aches out of his muscles. Remember the ultimate goal."

"I don't give a shit about the ultimate goal at the moment."

"You knew what he would be like, Sherlock, you were prepared to deal with him. You need to find that equilibrium again. Remember you're meant to be the good guy."

"We should have made you the good guy," the detective complained. "You are one, after all. I'm not suited for it."

"We want him to trust and obey you when this is all done. Remember? It has to be you."

"Why can't he trust and obey you?"

"Because I'll end up killing him." John grabbed Sherlock's sleeve and tugged him towards the stairs. "Don't forget that Mrs. H gets back in a few days." John opened the door to C and gave the detective a push into the flat.

Sherlock frowned down at Moriarty who looked more than a bit uncomfortable. He crossed over to him and crouched down. "We're going to untie you and get the blood flowing again. Be a good boy, Jim and don't try anything."

It looked like, at that moment, Jim would have given anything to be untied so he nodded his head slightly.

John stepped in, spun him back over roughly and then let Sherlock be the gentle touch.

Though Jim seemed to be compliant, Sherlock fastened a chain to the posture collar then to the wall before he set to work.

Just in case, John had a prepared needle and syringe so he could knock Moriarty out if needed.

It all proved unnecessary. Jim lay there quietly as Sherlock massaged his sore muscles.

John was reluctant to use the drugs on Jim, even when they were warranted. He didn't want him getting too used to them. He was, therefore, more than glad the Irishman kept still for them, even as Sherlock attached the cuffs in front of him.

"Good boy," the detective praised. "That wasn't so hard. And now you feel so much better." He smoothed down Jim's hair. "You were so good, I hate to bring up the matter of punishment, but you did try to kill yourself earlier and we can't have that."

"I… you… wasn't that enough?" Jim's throat was raw from disuse and Sherlock nodded in John's direction. The doctor returned with water and a straw.

Sherlock let him drink while he spoke. "That wasn't punishment. That was containment." Walking over to the cupboard, Sherlock dragged out the bench and brought it back. He placed it near Jim so that the consulting criminal would be able to lay across it without unchaining him from the wall. "Get up."

"But-" Jim tried.

"Now, Jimmy," Sherlock ordered.

John pushed his hand under the consulting criminal's arm and hauled him up and over the bench. With deft fingers, the doctor attached his collar to the bench with a second chain, then he cuffed his ankles and wrists and attached them to the bench.

Jim didn't bother fighting. There was no point with them both here, and although he wouldn't admit it, he ached like mad after this morning.

Sherlock circled their captive, approving of how he was restrained. That was when he realised he'd never put the cock cage on Jim. It would be difficult to do that with the way he was tied, but he was going to do it and then he was going to milk the consulting criminal. He'd heard of it, he could surely do it. All it took was patience.

He found the cage where he had dumped it and then threw it in John's direction. "Can you get that on him?" At John's nod Sherlock turned to the shelves along one wall looking for a specific toy. He found it. It was a thin wand that had a crook in it so that, when inserted into Moriarty's hole, it would rest snuggly against his prostate. It was also a vibrator. He planned to use it to milk Jim and keep on using it after he was oversensitive and hopefully begging for relief. He'd begin to break down then. When he turned around, John had moved the consulting criminal down the bench slightly, so his now caged cock hung off the edge.

Sherlock used a bare minimum of lube and didn't bother with stretching Jim. Instead he pushed the toy in the consulting criminal's hole with a slow but steady pace.

Jim hissed and tried to wriggle away from the intrusion, but it was no use. When the toy hit his prostate, he let out a gasp. "Oh, Sherlock, I didn't know you cared," came the tense quip.

"It may feel good now, but you'll be begging me to take it out before this is over. I'm going to milk you and then keep going."

Moriarty rolled his eyes and huffed, still trying to shift his hips. "You'll get bored."

Sherlock leaned in close, "try me."

With that, he flicked the switch on the toy. The vibrations almost seemed to send shockwaves through Moriarty's body. He started gasping and moaning in the most lewd fashion imaginable. "Oh, yes, Sherlock, that feels so good."

John didn't wait to be asked. He fetched the gag and had it in place in moments.

"Thanks," Sherlock whispered. This wasn't meant to be pleasure and he wouldn't have the sod try and make out that it was. He fetched the flogger from where it was dumped the night before and handed it to John.

The doctor took his time of it, walking around Jim and only occasionally striking him with the flogger. He made sure that neither his timing nor the location of the blows were predictable.

"You're good at that," Sherlock said with a grin.

"I aim to please."

"Who him or me?"

The doctor laughed. "Ultimately, you. Why would I want to please that?" He let the flogger fall on the back of Jim's arse.

Jim, who had been grunting with each blow, growled around his gag. In response, Sherlock reached out and pressed on the wand, causing the consulting criminal to whine and arch his back. He picked up a paddle and sat by the Irishma's

arse. He let blow after blow fall on the wand, knocking and jerking it about inside him.

Moriarty couldn't keep his hips still and he jolted with every strike of the flogger. He could feel his arousal burning low in his gut, but knew there was no relief coming. He never could have imagined himself in such a position, not with these two men as his tormentors.

"Aww, look," Sherlock had made his usual deep baritone go high pitched as he prodded at Jim's cock through the cage. "It's gone all red and wants to explode."

John laughed at the absurdity of the situation. As soon as Sherlock moved his hand, the doctor used the flogger on Jim's bollocks and cock. That earned him a satisfying, muffled yowl. Then Sherlock picked the paddle up again and resumed his own play time.

"You better not try and come without my permission, Jimmy boy. If you do, you will not like the consequences," Sherlock warned.

Jim groaned. He wouldn't call what was going to happen to him coming. It wouldn't feel good, there would be no rush of endorphins. This wasn't a game he ever played with Seb. It wasn't gratifying, and Sherly, the sod, knew that.

The detective had dropped the paddle and had pushed his little finger into the cage bars, where he wiggled it around his slit.

Jim growled something around the gag that could have been 'stop it', but Sherlock ignored him. He hummed to himself as he watched Jim's cock go from red to purple. He kept his finger in the cage, poking and prodding. It made Moriarty thrash a lot harder.

John kept up the steady strokes of the flogger, revelling in his power over the bastard. At the moment, he didn't even care that it was a bit not good. Finally, though, the doctor had to rest his shoulder. He went and got a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and drank it as he wondered how much longer Jim could last before he spilled his seed.

Sherlock was stood between his legs watching. "Come on then, Jimmy. Come." Sherlock laughed when all Jim did was whimper. "You not up to the job, Jimmy?"

The detective gave the wand a few twists and rocked it inside the consulting criminal. Soon, much to Jim's humiliation and fury, his semen dribbled out of him to pool on the floor. "You'll be cleaning that up in a few hours, Jim. Behave and I'll let you use a cloth, don't and you'll be using your tongue." Sherlock turned the vibrations up a notch and set back to watch.

Jim shivered and quaked. He kept shifting, trying to get away from the wand. He was breathing hard and hated that he couldn't keep quiet. All in all, the criminal mastermind was behaving rather well, Sherlock was quite impressed.

The detective pushed himself to his feet and joined John by the small fridge. The doctor passed him a bottle of water.

Jim was starting to fall apart and he knew it. He knew it would only be temporary so he decided to let himself go. He began making pleading sounds around his gag as his hips jerked and writhed.

Sherlock just stood back and watched as their pet's cock began to leak for the third time.

"Do you reckon he's had enough?" John whispered.

Sherlock shrugged. "Don't care."

Jim heard them and became genuinely distressed. He kept making pleading sounds until he was too exhausted to carry on. At that point, there were tears leaking from his eyes. He felt completely stupid, but knew there was nothing he could do. His cock was oversensitive as was his prostate, but the buzzing was insistent and there was no sign that Sherlock would let it stop. Because he knew it would be Sherlock that finally did.

The detective walked around and crouched down in front of Moriarty. "Tell me, Jimmy, are you going to try and hurt yourself again?"

The consulting criminal shook his head vigorously and tried to say 'no' around his gag.

"Are you sure about that, boy? I'd hate to think you might change your mind later."

This time Jim nodded and tried to say 'yes' around the gag.

Sherlock unbuckled it.

"Prove it."

"Please," he croaked. "Sherlock, I-" he bucked up as John increased the vibrations. "Sir, stop it, please."

Sherlock let his eyebrows raise. "Did you just call me 'sir'?"

"Yes, sir. Please, sir, make it stop," Jim begged. Plead now, get even later was what he was thinking. Anything to make it stop.

Sherlock folded his arms. He could see exactly what the sod was thinking, because he, himself would do exactly the same. Even so, it was the best he could hope for right now.

"Good boy." He petted Jim like a dog, then slipped around him to turn off and remove the wand.

Moriarty gave a hiss as it slid from his body, then he collapsed, limp with relief.

"What do you say, Jimmy?"

"Thank you, sir."

Sherlock nodded. "John, fetch him a drink."

While the doctor was busy with that, Sherlock removed the cock cage, cleaned him up and replaced it. "Don't forget, Jimmy, in a minute you have a mess to clear up."

"Yes, sir." Jim drank the water John offered gratefully this time. He was exhausted and, next to the water, wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

He whimpered as the cage went back on, his cock was raw enough without something constricting it as well.

"Jim, I'm about to untie you. You'll clean up this mess and go straight to the mattress in the corner."

"Yes, sir," the consulting criminal whispered.

"Leash only," Sherlock said to the doctor. He wanted to test Moriarty in the next few minutes. When he was back in the corner, however, was a different matter.

When Jim was free, John tossed him a flannel that had been soaked in soapy water. He caught it and, for one moment, Sherlock saw his face fill with indecision. Moriarty ultimately decided to cooperate and cleaned up the mess. John led him by the leash to the sink where he rinsed the flannel out, then he went back and ran it over the spot once more.

"The laundry is that way." The doctor pointed.

Jim carried the dirty flannel and chucked it in with the other dirty linen.

"Bed," John ordered, nodding at the cot on the floor.

"Are you going to…"

"Going to what, Jim? Punish you more? Probably. But not right now."

Jim started for the mattress, seemingly docile. Just as he reached it, he wrapped the chain around his wrist and pulled, hoping to knock John off his feet.

It didn't work. The doctor had been prepared. "Sherlock!"

In a heartbeat, Sherlock had wrestled the exhausted Moriarty to the floor. "That was incredibly stupid Jim. You're supposed to be a genius."

Sherlock spun the weakened consulting criminal so he was face down and grabbed his arm, ramming it up his back.

Jim yelled out, clearly sore from earlier that day when he'd been tied up a little uncomfortably.

John appeared with cuffs in hand. together, they cuffed Jim's hands behind him. Next, John connected the leash to the wall. "You can let him up now," the doctor said with confidence.

Sherlock got up and backed away. "Surely you didn't think I believed you had broken so easily."

Moriarty sneered.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. John, fetch a gag. And a spreader bar. We can make him a little more uncomfortable. I was going to feed you. But I don't think that matters right now."

"Good, then I want a break from looking at him." John tossed a gag to Sherlock. He picked up the spreader bar and approached Jim to lock it on him. He bent and buckled the bar's ankle cuffs around his ankles, then tested them. Jim wasn't getting free on his own.

Satisfied with the posture collar that he couldn't strangle himself again, Sherlock made a point of kicking his caged cock before walking to the door, grabbing John's hand as he went.

When they got to their flat, Greg was waiting for them.

"You're picking up bad habits from my brother," Sherlock observed.

"Yeah, I am." He handed John a beer. "I thought you'd be needing that about now." He lifted his own beer, the took a long swig of it.

"You saw all that, I assume?" the detective asked.

"You never assume," John grumbled.

"Yes, I did," Greg agreed. "Trouble with the arrogant prick?"

"He's up and down like a bloody yoyo," Sherlock snatched the doctor's beer from him and took a long sip.

"Alright then. John, There's more beer in the fridge," Greg told him whilst staring at Sherlock in shock.

John went and got himself a bottle. "I almost want to ask if Mycroft has people that could handle this, but I know how that would work out."

"Although you might not let them near him, surely they could offer advice?" Greg suggested. 

Sherlock shook his head. "We don't need anyone else. And anyway, Mycroft knows just as much about this sort of stuff as his men do and more importantly, he's on our side."

"I honestly can't believe you just admitted that," John said, settling into the sofa beside him.

Sherlock sniffed. "I'm not an idiot. If he wasn't on our side, we could never pull this off."

That made John smile. Any time Sherlock mentioned his brother without antagonism, it was pleasant. He snuggled into his boyfriend's side. "Let's get him here and talk to him then," John suggested.

"No!"

John leant back to look him in the face. "No?"

"He'll see I've messed up."

"What?"

"I told him I could sort this. Sort him. Alone. I can't."

"It's up to you, of course," John agreed, "but think about your goal. Isn't that the most important thing? I'm honestly glad you don't have experience with this sort of thing."

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs Sherlock growled out, "Greg!"

"I never called him!"

"Did I miss something?" Mycroft asked from the doorway.

"It wasn't me!" John said, sitting up abruptly.

Mycroft looked about the room. "Ah. I see things aren't going as well as you had hoped, little brother."

"Alright. I was naive. Are you three happy now?" Sherlock stood up and stropped his way across the room to look out on the London skyline.

"Yes," Mycroft said seriously. "I am happy. I'm happy you've never had to do this sort of thing before. I'm only regretful that you're faced with doing it now."

"This is the 21st century, Mycroft! Not the 18th."

"Huh?" John had lost track of the conversation."

"Slavery. How big it was back then, it didn't make it right!"

"And what you are doing, little brother, does not count as… slavery."

"Then what is it?!" Sherlock demanded, tugging at his curls.

"It's saving a life through extreme measures. You've got to break him and put him back together without the annoying tendency to kill people."

"I. Can't."

"Then we'll help. I'm fairly certain John has already made that clear."

"So what if he has? I can't keep track of his mood swings and it's only been a day."

Greg spoke up, "That's not necessarily a bad thing, is it Myc?"

"No. In fact, it's good. The more unstable he becomes, the better." Mycroft rested a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Unstable?" Sherlock barked a laugh. "He isn't unstable, Mycroft! He's unhinged!"

John moved to the window to grab his hand.

"Fair point." Mycroft sighed. "I never said it would be an easy task. Do you want to give up? If you do, I'll clean everthing up and make it go away. Otherwise, I'm at your disposal. I could take over for a day or so, give you some respite, with Gregory's aid, of course."

"I can't take a day off every other day." He glared out the window.

John cupped his cheek, "Babe, it's alright."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, Mycroft. I'd appreciate your help. On a more permanent basis."

"Then you have it." The government official looked a Greg with a question in his eyes.

"I've already said I'd help. I said it the last time we talked about this. Nothing has changed," the DI said firmly.

Sherlock nodded, feeling slightly better. "Thank you," he said softly.

Before he tried to glance out the window John dragged him back to the sofa. They needed a plan.

Mycroft took a seat in John's chair. "I need to know what you have done up to this point."

Sherlock and the doctor exchanged looks, then the younger explained in detail what had transpired in the last 24 hours.

Mycroft nodded. "Nothing you did was wrong. I propose continuing in that vein, but add a layer of both mental and physical exhaution to it. Don't let him sleep. Use those headphones to pump continuous, irritating noise to his brain."

"Why?"

"Disorientate him. He doesn't definitely know, but he'll be fairly sure that you've seen him throughout the day so far. Make him not believe that. How is he exactly tied?"

"Posture collar, hands cuffed behind his back, spreader bar, chained to the wall by the collar," Sherlock summarised quickly.

Greg gave a shudder. He couldn't imagine being in such a helpless position.

"And how did he react to that?" Mycroft asked.

"He tried knocking me off my feet," John informed him.

Sherlock growled at the thought. "Which is why he is tied like that. And the posture collar is because of he tried to kill himself earlier."

John had been watching Jim on the laptop. The consulting criminal was hunched over with his head hanging. "I swear, I think he's asleep."

"Is that good or bad?" Sherlock's eyes darted to his brother.

"Bad. Get down there and wake him up."

The detective actually looked worried. "And do what?"

Mycroft paced across the room and grabbed his brother's collar. He began dragging him to the door.

"Keep him awake." He shoved Sherlock out onto the landing, then turned to Greg. "Put together a playlist with that horrid music you like so much and put it on Sherlock's iPod. We'll pump it through the headphones. Moriarty won't sleep at all."

The DI grinned. Mycroft teased him about his taste in music all the time.

"You coming, John?" Mycroft called over his shoulder, still pushing Sherlock towards the stairs.

The doctor glanced to the DI and then out into the hallway. "Yeah."

The trio stopped outside C. Mycroft gave a nod, then opened the door.

Walking across the room, Sherlock took Jim by the chin and tilted his head back. "Did I say you could sleep?! Wake up, Jimmy!"

Moriarty did his best to ignore the sod in front of him. But Sherlock slapped him. "Wake. Up!"

When his eyes opened, he saw not just one Holmes but two and sighed heavily.

Sherlock unbuckled the gag and forced water into his mouth. It would be a while before it came again.

"Come on, Sherly, are you really going to share me with your brother? I'm disappointed in you. I thought we had something special between us."

Sherlock just slapped him again. If he didn't want the water then he wasn't bothered. He stepped back and let Mycroft take over. His brother clearly wanted to.

The elder Holmes stepped up and stood in front of Moriarty. He took his time taking off his jacket and handed it to John, then he crouched down in front of Jim. He gave him a chilling smile. "You're going to be seeing a lot more of me. Isn't that delightful?"

"But, what you said-"

Mycroft grabbed his face in his hand and pushed his head back, successfully shutting him up with the posture collar tightening.

He glanced over his shoulder. "You gentlemen want to help me get him up?"

John unfastened the chain from Moriarty's collar as it wasn't long enough to permit him to stand, then he and Sherlock each took one of his arms and hefted him to his feet.

Jim stood there awkwardly, his stance wide due to the spreader bar.

"There's a suspension system in here, isn't there?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock grinned, "I believe, Mycroft, that was your idea."

The government official grinned, "Get him on his knees."

Moriarty tried to struggle, but couldn't, not against three of them and the spreader bar didn't help his cause.

"Sherlock, tie the bar to the floor. John, get the winch going and pull it down. You aren't going to like your arms when this is through, Jimmy," Mycroft sneered.

"Up, down. Up, down. You can't make up your mind, can you, Mycroft?" Jim asked mockingly.

The government official rolled his eyes. "I had forgotten how much you like to talk."

"No more than your brother."

While Mycroft glared down the consulting criminal, John had the cuffs undone and above his head, his arms pulled taught. As soon as John was done, Mycroft punched their captive. Jim jerked back slightly, but with the spreader tied down and the cuffs tied up…

Greg appeared, iPod in hand. "I've got everything on here that you requested."

"Good. Thank you, Gregory, but we don't need it just yet. Hold onto it for me." Mycroft turned back to Jim and casually punched him again.

"Is this part of the plan?" The DI asked after the third punch.

"Aren't you going to do him for assault?" Moriarty sneered.

"Nope," Greg grinned. "He's enjoying himself too much."

"What kind of copper are you?!" Jim demanded.

"I'm the kind that's in love with the British Government, you dick."

At that, John burst out laughing.

"The question is, which one's the better deal?" Sherlock asked glancing between the two older men.

They both said "me" at the same time.

Sherlock gripped Moriarty's hair in his hand and tugged it back, as much as the collar would allow.

"You will be respectful of my brother and Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock ordered.

"Why, Sherly? You're not."

"That's a brother's perogative. If you don't treat them with respect, I'll make you regret it."

The detective stared down at the Irishman, aware that John had moved over to join the others.

"Of course you will, Sherly," Jim replied.

"Mycroft, may I?" John asked politely.

"But of course."

John glared at Jim, his jaw set. "Jim. Take this to heart. Don't call him Sherly." He pulled back his arm and let his fist fly, punching Moriarty in the face.

"That's four hits in less than 5 minutes," Sherlock whispered in the consulting criminal's ear. "That has to be a record, even for you."

"Sherlock, enough. Fetch the headphones," the older Holmes ordered.

Sherlock did as requested, settling the headphones over Jim's ears. Greg produced the iPod and Sherlock plugged the headphones into it. He set it on random play at a high volume. He was pleased when Jim flinched visibly.

Sherlock paced around the kneeling man to stand beside his brother. He glanced down at Jim's caged cock and then moved to the shelves to get some rope. He set about tying the cage to the spreader bar.

Mycroft nodded his approval. It would certainly keep Moriarty from trying to stand up to relieve the pressure on his arms. "Let's leave off the gag, shall we? Let him shout himself hoarse if he wants to. No one will hear him anyway."

Jim couldn't glance down. He wanted to see what was happening with his cock. Why it was- he shifted his feet and realised. "You bastard!"

Sherlock punched him again then followed the others up the stairs, flicking the lights off as he went.

This time, Sherlock giggled when they were out in the hall. He threw his arms around Mycroft's neck and hugged him. "Oh, Mycie, that was wonderful."

The government official hugged his brother back gingerly, surprise written large on his face.

"Er…" John began awkwardly.

Sherlock stepped back and cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered before turning on his heel and running up the stairs.

Mycroft shrugged at the gobsmacked looks on the other two mens' faces.

"Maybe he just needed your approval," John suggested, sounding surprised by the idea.

"If that's the case, please, no one mention it around my brother."

"God, no," the doctor agreed. "That would be a disaster."

Sherlock suddenly came running down the stairs, a pile of coats in his hands. He chucked them in the general direction of the others.

"We're going out. Food. Now."

Greg looked at the detective with his mouth hanging ooen. "What? You're serious?"

"Yup. I'll not neglect John for the psychopath in the basement. Getting out of the flat will be good for us."

Mycroft looked between his brother, John and Greg.

"Looks like Sherlock's buying then," Mycroft said with a laugh at his resulting expression.

"That's fine, brother dear. I have several of your cards." With that, Sherlock swept passed the others and out onto the pathway. One of Mycroft's cars was sitting there waiting.


	5. Getting There

Sherlock groaned as he awoke and realised he'd fallen asleep on John's lap. The pair of them on the sofa. As he tried to sit up, he realised his brother and Greg were asleep on the opposite chair.

Moving ever so slowly so as not to wake John, Sherlock sat up. He went and opened the laptop to check on Moriarty. The criminal mastermind seemed to be talking to himself. It was actually quite amusing to watch. He briefly wondered what Mycroft's plan was for that day. What he would do to Jim, if he did anything.

Feeling unusually motivated, he went and put the kettle on. His puttering about the flat woke Greg who stood and stretched, then joined him in the kitchen.

"Shall I make toast or some such?" the DI offered.

"Sure. Watch the kidneys in the fridge."

"You are unbelievable."

"Well I would have got to play with them if it wasn't for the psychopath downstairs."

"You can't keep them forever and you can't just throw them out," Greg complained.

Sherlock sighed. "I know. I'll have to return them to Molly for proper disposal. Such a waste." He prepared four cups of tea. Greg would have to do without coffee. Sherlock made a mental note to have John buy some.

"Do you seriously have no coffee here?"

"It's not me you should nag at for it. John does the shopping and the other boring things."

"I suppose he can see the future if he was to let you in a supermarket. You'd forget and walk out with a trolley full of shopping."

From the living room, both John and Mycroft could be heard to be rousing. Greg carried his boyfriend a cup of tea as did Sherlock. By this time, the doctor could be seen watching Moriarty on the laptop.

"Well, he certainly doesn't look well rested," John noted, handing the laptop to Mycroft.

The government official pulled the laptop onto his lap and tapped at the keyboard. "Looks like he's been babbling jibberish for hours."

Sherlock laughed at that. "Is that good or bad?"

Mycroft gave the merest hint of a shrug. "Considering it's Moriarty, it's rather difficult to say." He sipped at his tea. "Did someone say something about toast?"

"Don't pretend you heard that, you were asleep," Greg noted.

Mycroft inclined his head. "Alright, well… I can smell burning. Can't you, little brother?"

"Crap! Sherlock you should have warned me your toaster doesn't work," Greg groused as he made a dash for said toaster.

Mycroft stood and stretched. "We can skip it for now anyway. I'm ready to see what state our guest is really in. How about you, baby brother?"

"Shouldn't we shave first, at least. Make a more put together presentation of ourselves?" Sherlock asked.

"Quite right, brother mine. Quite right."

John rolled his eyes. "You two are like a bloody double act. Get in the bathroom and sort yourselves out. Then go and deal with the psychopath downstairs. We'll sort breakfast."

As soon as the Holmeses deemed themselves presentable, they made their way down to C. Mycroft held the door to the room open for his brother as they entered. Jim didn't seem to notice. He had his eyes shut and was babbling a stream of what sounded like nonsense.

Sherlock inclined his head and at his brother's nod, threw a punch.

It was clear Jim was surprised, he glanced up and saw the pair of them, the babbling stopped instantly.

"Well, ow!" Jim complained. "And could I get a couple paracetamol for my head? Or does Sherlock not keep anything that mild laying about?"

Well at least he wasn't referring to his baby brother as 'Sherly' because that angered him more than he had shown.

"Why do you think we should give you paracetamol?" Mycroft asked.

"Well, my head is splitting in two and my arms are none too happy. It seems the least you could do is offer. You are ever so polite, Mycroft, not like your brother. You always do the proper thing."

This time it was Mycroft who punched him. "Was that polite enough for you?"

Jim didn't reply, just swallowed painfully.

"Now there's some things that are going to be made clear before we release you for a few hours." Mycroft's gaze flickered to his little brother. "First things first, anybody who enters this room is above you."

"Yes... sir."

"Next, you will express your gratitude for any respite we choose to give you."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, let's put your obedience to the test."

"How?" Jim asked.

Mycroft took a dangerous step forward. "Care to repeat that?" He asked carefully.

Jim licked his lips, it was clear his neck hurt and his throat was likely to be sore. "No, sir."

"Sherlock, would you disconnect Jim's cock from the spreader bar and remove the bar altogether? I'm going to lower his arms. If Jim behaves, I'll even let you feed him soon."

"I bet you're hungry," Sherlock said, circling around him before he crouched to get rid of the bar. "Kick me and it will be the ceiling your cock will be tied to, not the floor."

Jim decided to behave. He was tired and sore and, yes, hungry. He could play the good boy. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Now crawl to the table," Sherlock ordered.

Jim lowered aching arms and made his way painstakingly across the floor. Sherlock kicked at his arse, and the cock hanging in its cage. Moriarty whimpered, but he didn't say anything provocative or even anything at all.

Sherlock knew his game, play ball until he'd eaten and had a chance to relax. The aim was keeping him in that loss of equilibrium for however long it took.

Mycroft set a bottle of water in front of Jim whilst Sherlock put together a bowl of the miserable cereal John had bought just for the purpose of feeding Moriarty. Jim turned his nose up at it.

"Problem, boy?" Mycroft snarled 'boy' in his direction.

The consulting criminal shook his head slightly. "No, sir."

"Sherlock, he's called 'boy' now. Nothing else."

Jim tightened his grip on his spoon, visualising digging Mycroft's eyes out with it, but it was made of flimsy plastic and would probably break off halfway through the job. In fact, it shattered in his hand.

Sherlock turned at the cracking sound of plastic, but Mycroft was already there. He gripped Jim's wrist tightly in his hand and slapped him with the other one.

"You don't get another spoon. Not today, not any day. At least not until we believe you to be trustworthy." Mycroft picked up every single sharp piece of plastic and binned them. "Sherlock, feed him."

The detective flickered his calculating gaze in Mycroft's direction and he nodded once.

The government official snapped up a pair of handcuffs and pulled his wrists behind his back. "This is your fault, boy, we were willing to give you a few hours respite."

"But I didn't do anything. The spoon was an accident."

Mycroft tutted. "What you did to the spoon isn't the issue. It's what you were thinking about when you did it." He leaned in close. "You must govern your thoughts as well as your actions, boy."

Moriarty's breathing deepened as he glared at the older Holmes. Mycroft stared him down and within seconds the younger man averted his eyes. "I thought as much!" Mycroft snapped, reaching around to tighten the cuffs further.

Sherlock sat down next to Jim and gave him a reproachful look. "We tried, boy, but you wouldn't let us be good to you." He lifted a spoonful of cereal to Jim's lips and waited.

Jim stared at it, it looked like dog food.

Apparently, that was what Sherlock was thinking. "If you don't eat this now, I'll exchange it for real dog food."

"And I'll ram it down your throat," Mycroft added, very out of character.

At that, Moriarty opened his mouth and let himself be fed. He still glowered at the food, however. Every now and again, he lifted his eyes to glare at Mycroft from beneath darkened brows, but he didn't speak a word.

"Good doggy," Sherlock smirked when they were done.

Mycroft actually ruffled his hair, but Jim turned, snarling and trying to bite his hand.

His eyes glittered darkly as he chuckled. They could call him 'doggy'. He'd be a doggy. He snapped and snarled, bit and growled.

All Mycroft did in response was grip his hair tightly and yank his head back. "Ring gag, Sherlock. We don't have a muzzle. I'll get one dropped off."

The detective sprang up and fetched the requested gag, putting it into his brother's outstretched hand.

"Mycroft, I'm sorry-" Jim tried.

The government official laughed. "The boy apologised," he glanced at his brother and asked, "isn't that sweet?" At the same time as forcing the ring between his teeth.

"Yes, brother mine, it is. Incredibly so." Sherlock ran a finger under the strap that held the gag in place. He smoothed down Jim's hair where Mycroft had disturbed it. "It was too little too late, though."

"Cute." Mycroft grinned. "He's a cute little boy. But he's also a naughty little boy."

"I think, 'a naughty little shit' would be more appropriate."

Mycroft's grin turned into a laugh. "Sherlock, what would Mummy say?" he admonished.

"Under the circumstances, my language would be the least of her worries."

Mycroft's laugh continued, enough to make Jim huff through the gag.

"Could you imagine her face if she turned up down here to visit our dog?" Sherlock asked.

"Could you imagine what she'd do if she found out what he had tried to do to one of her boys?" the elder Holmes asked.

"He'd be dead already."

Moriarty's glare was getting more and more threatening. Mycroft suddenly decided he'd had enough and swung a punch.

Sherlock shook his head. "When will that get boring, do you think?"

Mycroft shrugged. "When I say so."

Sherlock shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid you're in for a rough time of it, boy." He looked at Mycroft. "What's next, big brother? I don't want to bore our guest."

Jim's eyes widened. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Put him on the cross. With the vibrating dildo attachment. Then let him squirm." Of course the headphones would go back on but he wasn't about to say that yet. He watched with grim satisfaction as Jim dropped his head.

"Come on, boy, it won't be so bad," Sherlock said as he pulled Moriarty to his feet and towards the cross. "Not that I want to trade places with you." He shoved him in Mycroft's direction and then sat on the bench, arms folded.

Mycroft ungagged the Irishman, not prepared to leave that ring on for as long as he was going to be.

"Why are you suddenly the organ grinder?" Moriarty snarled.

"I was kindly invited by my brother." Mycroft smiled thinly. "I must say I was pleased with the invitation to play."

"I bet you were. Couldn't wait to get your hands on me."

The government official grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back into the cross. Jim giggled madly. Mycroft just ignored it and held him pinned there for a moment.

"I'll take care of the boy's feet," Sherlock offered. "Just hold him for me."

"That will not be a problem." Mycroft tightened his grip on his throat until he gagged. "I can just gag you permanently, boy, if that's what you want."

When the detective was done, he reached behind Jim and separated his wrists. Mycroft took one whilst his brother fastened the other to the cross. After that, Sherlock moved around them both and did the same with Jim's other cuffed wrist.

"Regretting pushing your luck yet, boy?" Mycroft stepped away from him. "Sherlock, turn the cross to face the bed. I'm sure he could do with seeing how comfy he could have been."

The detective did so right away, then he went around him and lubed up the vibrating dildo. Sherlock shoved it into Jim hard and fast.

The Irishman grunted and thrashed. "Mycroft, get him off of me!" He snarled.

The older Holmes punched him again, he wasn't bored of it yet.

Sherlock noted his brother's enjoyment. He knew Mycroft wasn't a sadistic man, although his brother had never flinched at necessary violence, but this... His brother's actions were all on Sherlock's behalf, born of the threat that Moriarty represented.

"Stick it on then, 'Lock, I'm sure our boyfriends are missing us."

"That's unlikely!" Jim spat.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, fetched a dildo shaped gag and went back towards him.

Sherlock walked around Jim after he fixed the vibrating dildo to the cross. The consulting criminal looked quite ragged and uncomfortable. Remembering John strapped in semtex, the detective smiled in satisfaction.

"Bye bye, boy," Sherlock gave him a little wave as he followed his brother out of the room and up the stairs towards B, where he knew John was waiting.

The detective went straight passed John and washed his hands. He found he didn't want to touch his boyfriend after touching Jim. When he turned around, the doctor wrapped his arms around him. "It wasn't me that stopped his little rant. It was Myc," Sherlock told him.

"Did you just…"

"Yes, I did. And I haven't called him that since I was a child. But what he just did…" he pointed at the stairs. "That was for me."

John went up on his toes and kissed Sherlock lightly on the lips. "I'm glad to see you two are getting along better." He laughed and shook his head. "Not that I ever imagined something like this bringing you together."

"We were wondering what our mother would say if she was to know."

John glanced up at Mycroft who had Greg by the hand in the doorway.

"It's a good job you're the British Government, then, isn't it?" John checked.

Mycroft squeezed the DI's hand. "Undoubtedly. Ow." The government official released Greg's hand and looked down at his own. "John would you happen to have something for sore knuckles. I haven't thrown so many punches in years."

John laughed, but didn't take his eyes off his boyfriend, thinking over what he had said.

"There should be ice in the freezer, Mycroft," he pointed in the direction of the freezer, but turned in Sherlock's direction to kiss him.

Greg gave his boyfriend a shove towards one of the kitchen chairs. "I'll get you some ice. What did he say that earned him a pummeling?"

"A lot. Nothing." Mycroft shrugged. 

Sherlock followed his brother into the other room.

"Care to elaborate?" Greg called after them.

"Not really!" Sherlock yelled back.

The DI wrapped some ice in a tea towel and pressed it gently to his boyfriend's knuckles. "You need to take care of yourself better babe. I don't like to see you hurt."

Mycroft smirked then hissed as the ice pressed against his knuckles harder. "He deserved it."

"I don't doubt." The DI sat sideways on Mycroft's lap. "Just hit him with something other than your fist, yeah?"

"He's got a point, big brother. We have straps, floggers, canes, paddles. There's no need to hurt yourself."

Mycroft let his eyebrow raise. "Concerned for my wellbeing, Sherlock?"

The detective looked away and John clipped him on the back of the head. "Talk to him. Don't duck the conversation."

"You're a useful person to have around, I must admit," Sherlock stated.  John kicked him in the shin. "And perhaps I bear a modicum of concern."

Greg was struggling not to burst out laughing. "Both of you are useless!"

Mycroft frowned. "We aren't useless."

"All the things downstairs and you still manage to hurt yourself." Greg shook his head.

"He was enthusiastic." Sherlock looked proud. "My big brother is tough. It was just like he was beating up a bully."

Mycroft glanced away, not speaking.

Sherlock sighed heavily in response. "It was you who beat up that kid, then? When I was 13."

"He was 16!" Mycroft countered. "It's only bullying if they're older than you."

"You've always looked after him, haven't you?" John asked.

"Since he was put into my seven year old arms," Mycroft agreed, with a slight incline of his head.

The detective rolled his eyes at the ceiling and made a face.

John clipped him on the back of the head. "Be nice."

Sherlock pouted.

"Don't look like that. He's done a lot to help you today."

"I know." The detective walked over and looked at the video feed on the laptop. Jim looked none too happy. Good.

"How long are you planning on leaving him, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

The government official sighed and glanced at the screen. "As long as possible."

Greg urged Mycroft to turn towards the table and eat.

John captured Sherlock by the arm and directed him away from view of the laptop and back to the kitchen. "You're eating, too."

"But…"

"No, buts, Sherlock, sit down. Now."

The younger Holmes turned to the older one. "Mycie!" He moaned.

"Moriarty, I can help you with. You're on your own with John," Mycroft said with a dry smile.

At that, the doctor laughed and massaged Sherlock's shoulders.

Mycroft glanced toward his own boyfriend. "You can't make me eat. Anymore than John can make Sherlock."

Greg reached one hand down and grabbed Mycroft's cock through his trousers. "Your only way out of this is to eat."

The government official sighed dramatically and picked up his fork. "As a rule, Gregory, your hand there is hardly threatening. As a point of fact, I rather like it."

The DI tightened his grip until Mycroft's knees came up in self defence. Still he didn't let go. Not until the older man began reaching for a bread roll off the table.

"Ha!" Greg grinned in victory. "Don't tell me I don't know how to handle the British Government."

"I was never in doubt." John shoved a bite of food into Sherlock's mouth. "I feel sorry for their parents," John said, glaring at Sherlock until he swallowed.

"Yeah. Could you imagine these two as children?" Greg agreed.

"It wasn't me that was the problem," Mycroft claimed, "it was him!"

It all seemed a bit surreal, this normal conversation occurring with Jim imprisoned just downstairs. Greg gave a shrug and went with it.

* * *

2 days later, the four of them wandered back into Baker Street after a rather trying case involving Mycroft's department and Greg's.

The two Holmes were far more alert than the other two men.

"You two go and lie down, we'll deal with Jim, yes, little brother?" Mycroft suggested.

Greg collapsed on the sofa, leaving John to wander down the hall and fall into his and Sherlock's bed.

The detective shook his head at the fraility of their boyfriends and followed Mycroft down to C.

They'd left Moriarty without a care in the world and when Mycroft flicked on the light, Jim's head tried to lift but couldn't.

"Maybe the boy will cooperate now," Sherlock said, stepping forward to grip Jim's hair in his hand.

Moriarty was almost glad to see Sherlock. No, he was glad to see him and he hated himself for it. He tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry.

Mycroft stayed nearby, mainly for support, but he knew that Sherlock needed to do this bit. He needed to offer the soothing, calming side. It was Sherlock that Moriarty needed to respect.

"Sh, sh," the detective soothed Jim as he wiped his sweaty hair back from his brow. "You must be incredibly thirsty, but I don't want you getting sick. Water might be too much for you. Hold on and I'll get you some ice chips to suck on, then I'll remove that gag. I'll help you, boy. Sh."

Mycroft stood with folded arms and watched Jim sag forward again. Sherlock glanced at him, slightly concerned, but he just nodded encouragingly.

The detective reached up and removed the gag, the consulting criminal didn't have the energy to even work his jaw as Sherlock pressed in a few ice chips.

"Easy, boy," Sherlock continued to soothe. "Once you get some of this into you, I'll take you down off this cross. Behave for me and I'll be able to put you on your bed and clean you up. I'll take care of you, if you let me."

Moriarty was just glad that the white noise had stopped and his eyes drooped. "Yes, sir," he whispered, his voice was no more than a croak.

After a few minutes, Sherlock decided Jim had had enough ice chips. He unbuckled Jim's ankle cuffs first, then his wrist cuffs. He caught the consulting criminal in his arms as he slumped forward and lifted him off the dildo.

Sherlock winced silently in sympathy at his abused cock in its cage, it was red and angry but had long since stopped leaking. He lowered him down to the floor.

"Crawl to the mattress," he ordered, quietly but sternly. Another glance at Mycroft had Sherlock moving towards the butt plugs. It would be sore for the criminal mastermind, but that didn't matter, it was a controlling measure.

Jim collapsed face first on the mattress once he reached it, exhausted.

"You can't rest just yet, boy." Sherlock crouched down by Jim. "Lift your arse for me." When Moriarty did, the detective pushed the plug in place. It slipped in with almost no resistance.

The captive man bit his lip to hold back his whimper.

"Mycroft, would you fetch a glass of water?" Sherlock ran his hand through Jim's sweaty hair again, and the Irishman moved slightly to rest his face against Sherlock's knee. "There you go boy." The detective rolled Moriarty over and attached the leash hanging from the wall to the tip of Jim's cock cage. "Just rest."

Jim glanced at the chain, but his eyes were already shutting. "Sir-"

"Shh," he placed the water Mycroft had fetched in front of him and let him take small sips until he was done. Then he removed the glass from his reach. "You have a few hours to sleep. I'll bring you some food later."

Moriarty rolled instinctively towards Sherlock's gentle touch as he closed his eyes. He was so tired... He didn't have it in him to fight, not at the moment.

By the time Sherlock had stood up and made it across the room to his brother, Moriarty was asleep.

"Well done," Mycroft whispered as they turned to make their way out of C.

It was all the detective could do not to jump and do a fist pump.

Mycroft shook his head, amused. He knew it was far too soon to pronounce Jim broken. But he'd been in their grasp for nearly a week.

When he closed the door he actually patted sherlock on the shoulder. "We're getting there, little brother."

The detective sprinted lightly up the stairs, his brother's words made him feel almost giddy. "John! John, come listen!" He couldn't wait to give his boyfriend an update even though he was sure the doctor had already fallen asleep himself. He was too excited to wait.

It was Mycroft that stopped him by grabbing his collar. He shook his brother slightly, "we should let them sleep, 'Lock, they can't run on coffee alone."

Sherlock deflated right before the government official's eyes. "Sleep is so boring. How can they stand to do it all the time?"

"Some people need more sleep than we do, baby brother."

"Everyone needs more sleep than we do."

"Quite true. Although Anthea always does quite well on little sleep."


	6. We're Not the Government

Sherlock had actually fallen into a doze on the sofa a few hours later when Mycroft shook him awake. "We need to go and wake him up, Sherlock."

"But he's barely been asleep for long," the detective objected.

"Precisely, it needs to be on your terms, not his."

Sherlock hummed his understanding. He'd wake Jim up and determine his state of mind. Things would go one of two ways: more caretaking or more punishment. He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his brother's sleeve as he passed him. "I'm not going down there alone. Something will go wrong."

"An admirable precaution," Mycroft agreed, "if that's how you meant it. Don't trust anything about him, even his physical exhaustion."

"You can't fake being tired like that. I've seen John like it often enough."

Mycroft chuckled softly. "Come on. You've got to be hard on him and even if he's still… compliant you can't change your mind on anything."

Inside C, Jim slept so deeply, he didn't hear the door open or the two Holmeses enter. It wasn't until Mycroft kicked him awake that he knew they were there.

"Good morning, boy," the government official said, though it wasn't actually morning. He wanted to continue playing with Moriarty's sense of time.

Moriarty blinked up at him stupidly. Was he supposed to reply to that? "Morning, sir," he whispered. And where was Sherlock? He wanted him, not his older brother.

Mycroft placed one foot in the centre of the consulting criminal's chest. "Boy! Keep your eyes on me. I'm the one you need to be worrying about." He motioned to his brother to approach. "Get him up and on his knees."

Moriarty ducked his head as Sherlock stepped forward and hauled him up to his knees. He let his hand linger in his hair for a while.

"Cuff him," Mycroft ordered next.

Sherlock locked a pair of handcuffs around Jim's wrists. "Behave for my brother. I don't know exactly what he has in mind for you, but if you don't, you'll just make it worse."

"But, sir-"

"Shh," Sherlock pressed his finger to Jim's lips, smiling internally at the automatic 'sir' that he had spoken. He wasn't convinced this was over, not at all, but it was a hell of a start.

Moriarty dropped his eyes to the floor. He felt confused, his thoughts were fuzzy. He knew he was playing into Sherlock's hands, but couldn't fight it, not with Mycroft loomimg over him.

The government official grabbed a handful of Jim's hair and pulled his head back. "Thank my brother for cuffing you."

Jim's gaze moved to Sherlock who had straightened up. "Thank you, sir," he whispered.

"Speak up, boy! He has a heightened intelligence not heightened hearing," Mycroft barked.

"Thank you, sir," Jim said louder. He wanted Sherlock to intervene on his behalf, but knew Mycroft wouldn't let him, not yet. He had to behave.

"Good boy," Sherlock said as he stepped away. He moved behind his brother to give him a chance to do whatever it was he had planned.

"No…" Moriarty moaned when he couldn't see the detective anymore.

Mycroft leant forward and gripped his chin in his hand. "Shut it. Boy."

Without thinking, Jim tried to jerk away, but Mycroft's fingers dug into the flesh of his chin. "Sir, I didn't mean to..."

The government official shoved him over, then barked at him, "Get back on your knees!"

Jim glanced at Sherlock around the older Holmes as he pushed himself back to his knees with much difficulty. He was still exhausted and the cuffs holding his hands behind him didn't make things much easier.

The government official pushed Moriarty over again. "This time stay down." He went to the table of implements and selected a humbler. It would allow them to unchain Jim whilst still effectively controlling him.

Jim tucked himself into a ball, trying to appear as small as possible, he just wanted to sleep.

"Hands and knees," the government official ordered sharply. "And Sherlock, you'd better get that cage off him."

Jim flinched when the detective's fingers lifted his caged cock to set it free. He tried to hold himself still and stay quiet so as not to provoke him.

Sherlock set the cage aside and accepted the humbler wordlessly from his brother.

The consulting criminal's cock looked no less raw than it had earlier, he was surprised that he was managing to keep his mouth shut.

"Thank him for removing the cage, boy," Mycroft ordered.

"S... sir, thank you," Jim managed between hisses of pain as Sherlock manipulated his member. It seemed to take forever for the detective to put the humbler into place. When it pressed against the back of his still red thighs, he buried his head in his forearms.

This time when Sherlock let go and backed away, Jim whispered, "Thank you, sir," without prompting.

The detective petted Moriarty's head. "Good boy. Good." He let his hand linger there for a bit, then stood and started to move away.

"Sir, please, no..." Jim's head was pressed into Sherlock's leg. "Please, sir," he moaned.

The detective glanced towards his big brother for help. Mycroft shook his head minutely.

"I won't go far, boy," Sherlock promised, "and I'll be here when it's all over."

Jim dropped his hand and closed his eyes.

Mycroft leant forward and grabbed Jim's cock. He cried out in pain, turning his head to bite into his arm. Sherlock stood back and watched as his brother toyed with him.

While Jim fought back groans of misery, Sherlock went and prepared a bowl of soapy water. He brought it back along with a flannel and a large towel. He had already decided to bathe Jim at the next opportunity. The man was ripe indeed.

"Crawl forward," Mycroft ordered, while he still held his cock.

Jim let out a broken whimper as he obeyed, the humbler rubbing up against his bruised thighs.

Leading him all the way to the table of implements, Mycroft picked up a bowl of beads. He tossed them on the floor. "Pick them up, boy, and put them back in this bowl." He dropped the bowl on the floor and picked up the flogger.

Jim glanced over his shoulder, utterly drained and confused.

"Now!" Mycroft snapped. "Be a good boy, and Sherlock might feed you."

Still, the consulting criminal didn't move, not until the flogger came down over his lower back and arse. The jolt of pain made him shuffle forward towards the first bead. He picked it up and brought it back to the bowl, dropping it in. Every movement made him hiss in pain.

Sherlock began to feel guilty, that was why he had to be the good cop in this scenario. He was far more similar to Moriarty than he gave himself credit for. And he was far more similar than his brother.

When Jim had finished with his task, he hunched over, panting. Mycroft flicked the flogger against his backside one more time. "Go to my brother," the government official demanded. "Kiss his feet. Ask him if your performance pleased him."

Moriarty was more than happy to go to the younger Holmes; the friendlier one. He pressed his head to the floor at his feet and then kissed them. "Did I please you, sir?"

Sherlock didn't know what Mycroft wanted from this, so he glanced at him hoping to deduce. His brother's face gave away nothing this time. The detective made a decision. "Yes, yes you pleased me. Look at me."

Jim sat up as best he could and peered into Sherlock's eyes.

"When Mycroft is done with you, I'll let you choose if I give you food or clean you first." He gestured towards the bowl of water. "But you have to keep being good for him."

"Yes, sir," Jim nodded with as much energy as he could muster.

"We're done now," Mycroft said. "Or rather, for now. But leave him in that humbler."

Sherlock gave Jim a smile. "See how well you did? Tell me, boy, do you want food or cleaned first?"

Moriarty glanced at the bowl. "Food, sir. Please." Jim didn't care that it would likely be the same cold, miserable cereal. He just wanted the hunger to go away.

Sherlock nodded, "Wait here with Mycroft, I'll go and fetch you something." Sherlock climbed up the steps out of C to fetch the horrible bran flakes. He'd get better food the longer he behaved. When he returned to C with a bowl of cereal in hand, Jim looked up from the floor at him.

The consulting criminal made a hesitant move towards Sherlock, then stopped himself. He glanced at Mycroft as if afraid of being corrected.

Mycroft stared him down until he glanced away. "Sorry, sir," he whispered, unsure what he was supposed to do.

"Come here," Sherlock ordered, sitting on the edge of the bench.

With a swallow, Jim started in his direction. He moved as fast as he could whilst minimising the discomfort the humbler was causing him. He stopped in front of Sherlock and looked up hopefully.

"Sit back, Sherlock ordered.

Jim whimpered as he sat back on his heels, his arse hurt enough before Mycroft had pummelled it, but now…

The detective had set the bowl down and picked up the flannel. He dipped it in the water and wiped the sweat from Moriarty's face, then dropped it in the bowl of water. Next, he picked up the bowl of cereal again. "Open, boy." When Jim did so, he spooned some of the cereal into his mouth.

He didn't like it anymore than the first time he'd tried it but he didn't turn his nose up this time. And he was starving.

"Good boy," Sherlock whispered, watching his brother over the consulting criminal's shoulder.

As Jim's stomach filled, his mind started to settle from the chaos it had been in since he had been left on the cross. He felt more like himself and anger started burning inside of him.

Sherlock reached out and snagged his throat in his hand. "Don't even think about it."

Mycroft came over and bent down behind him, pulling his wrists around and cuffing them there.

Jim had tried to resist, but Sherlock's hold on his throat had tightened enough to present him a problem with breathing. When the detective let go, Moriarty gasped for breath.

Mycroft was doing the same with his wrists, tightening the cuffs as much as he could until Jim winced.

"Fighting done, boy?" Sherlock snarled.

"Yes... sir."

The detective raised a single eyebrow. "You don't sound very sincere." He shoved Moriarty over backwards.

Jim cried out as the humbler pulled his bollocks painfully.

Sherlock pressed his foot to his bruised cock. "I may be the one that feeds you and cleans you, but that does not mean you get to show me attitude!"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Jim clenched his jaw shut tight after he got the words out. He wanted to fight, argue, struggle, but it was pointless. He looked up at movement and saw Mycroft nodding.

"Now," Sherlock spoke slowly and sternly. "Because of your sudden attitude, my brother will deal with you."

Moriarty moaned despite himself. He should have hidden his true feelings better. "Sir, please..."

With a shake of his head, Sherlock stood. He stepped over Jim's prone form. "You had your chance."

Mycroft stepped forward and grasped Jim by the hair, yanking his head back. "You've upset my little brother, boy, that will not be tolerated."

"Sir, I swear, I'm sorry."

"Not yet, you're not." He kept pulling Jim back, forcing him straighter until the consulting criminal cried out from the pain the humbler caused him.

Tears sprung at Jim's eyes and he closed them.

"Get over the bench," Mycroft ordered. "I think your pretty trapped bollocks need a nice caning."

Jim's eyes darted to the detective. "Sir, please."

Sherlock looked at him coolly and pointed to the bench.

With a whimper, Jim lay over the next torture item. Mycroft positioned him so that his bollocks made an easy target. "Tie him down, 'Lock, we wouldn't want him struggling."

"Of course," as Sherlock walked passed their captive to fetch some rope, he flicked at Jim's balls with his finger.

"Make sure you don't enjoy this too much, boy," he said as he tied his cuffs to the floor, keeping him spread out.

Jim couldn't fight the sudden urge to struggle. As he did, he spit invective. "I'll carve you're eyes out. I'll skin you and make my shoes. I'll cut your balls off and make you eat them!"

Mycroft paced around him and stopped in front. He yanked his head back by his hair again, finding it gave him a sense of power that nothing else did. "Go on, then," he replied lowly.

Moriarty swallowed and clamped his mouth shut.

"That's what I thought," Mycroft said, letting Jim's head drop to the bench. He walked around behind him and, after a suitable time had passed, brought the cane down on Moriarty's bollocks.

Jim cried out immediately. The pain down there had already been extreme. Now it had gone way passed it.

Sherlock sat back and watched his brother work, each blow of the crop had Jim crying out.

Eventually Mycroft nodded and the detective stepped forward, message received.

"Alright, Mycroft. Enough." Sherlock untied the consulting criminal's wrists from the floor and as soon as he was free he latched onto him. Sherlock stared down in surprise as Jim mumbled a string of apologies through his sobs. "Hush, now, boy," the detective soothed. "I've got you, but you need to let go so I can release your ankles."

Jim shook his head and held on even tighter. "Please, sir, no."

"Alright. I'll hold you until you're ready." Sherlock glanced towards his brother who was stood, arms folded, watching them.

Mycroft winked, feeling oddly proud of his little brother, it took guts to do what he was doing. Picking up the pieces, so to speak.

After a few minutes, Jim let Sherlock unfasten his ankles from the bench. The detective picked him up, mindful of the humbler and carried him over to the mattress. After connecting the chain to his posture collar, he removed the humbler as well.

"Thank you, sir," Jim said sincerely.

Sherlock nodded, Mycroft had fixed the problem, temporarily at least. He stood to leave, but Jim latched out and grabbed his finger.

"Please don't leave, sir."

"I can stay for five more minutes, boy, but that's all." The detective pulled up a chair and indicated that Moriarty should kneel at his feet. When he did, he combed his fingers through his filthy hair.

Mycroft walked over and toed the criminal mastermind's red bollocks.

Jim whimpered.

"Don't you have something to say to me?" the government official growled.

"Yes, sir," he hiccoughed. "I'm sorry, sir."

Jim wrapped his arms around Sherlock's legs and held on for dear life. He didn't want to be given back over to Mycroft.

"Shh," Sherlock soothed, "you know, tomorrow I think we'll give you a bath. Well, depending on your behaviour. Be a good boy for us and you can bath in the en suite through there, don't and we can get the hose out."

Moriarty nodded. "I'll be good, sir. Promise."

"Then let go. I have business to be about." Sherlock disentangled himself from Jim's grip and stood. "I'll see you in the morning, boy."

"Promise?" Jim asked softly, his eyes red rimmed.

Mycroft called him from the door. The detective didn't answer his new slave's question, just followed Mycroft out of 221C.

They went up the steps to B quietly. It wasn't until they entered the flat that Mycroft turned and told his brother, "Well done. He's coming along."

"Yes, but that outburst of his indicates he has a long was to go yet."

"Do you have to always knock the positives?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm being realistic."

"No. You're being pessimistic."

John came straggling through the kitchen from the bedroom. "What's the fuss about?"

"Mycroft thinks we're making loads of progress even though Jim wants to feed us our balls."

John choked on nothing. "What?"

"Well, he changed his mind, didn't he?" Mycroft snapped.

"Physically maybe."

"He was all over you, Sherlock, he didn't want you to leave."

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. "I should have stayed in bed. I'm making tea." He turned around and went into the kitchen, grumbling.

"I never said it would be easy!' Sherlock called after him.

"Well your brother clearly disagrees."

"Well, my brother is a moron," Sherlock countered, ducking out of the way of a smack on the back of his head.

"What's going on?" Greg came in from the front room, looking completely exhausted.

John shook his head. "Moriarty is creepy."

"We knew that already, mate."

Mycroft took Greg's hand. "We're making progress, though my brother disagrees."

"He's your little brother, isn't he meant to disagree with you?"

Mycroft chuckled dryly. "If only. He's being a pessimistic numpty."

At that, Greg burst out laughing.

"John, make him stop," the detective demanded.

The doctor covered his eyes with one hand. "How about this instead. You go get me a couple of paracetamol from the kit."

"You're making tea. The paracetamol are by the kettle." Sherlock folded his arms with a sarcastic smirk. "Now who's the numpty?"

"That's not fair, brother mine. If John has a headache, he's probably not thinking at his best."

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his older brother, bloody sticking his nose in!

The kettle clicked off and John poured four cups of tea, then waited for them to steep. "What's the next step, then, with Moriarty?"

"We should see how he behaves in the morning. Or whenever we want to see him next."

"When do you plan on letting him out of C?" Greg asked, smiling at the mug of tea that was pressed into his hands.

"Not until he's completely broken. And has been for a long time. He stands no chance of getting free where he is. If he comes up here or outside there's far too many variables to consider."

Sherlock nodded. "We can at least agree on that, brother mine." He could imagine the havoc if Moriarty got free right now. He shuddered at the thought.

* * *

The four of them had settled on the sofa the night before and all but Sherlock had fallen asleep. He lay their contemplating what was to come. Could Moriarty truly be tamed?

John startled him by tapping him on the shoulder. "You're thinking too loud. Go to sleep." The doctor closed his eyes and immediately started snoring.

For a few minutes, the detective just listened to him with a smile on his face, then his thoughts turned back to Jim.

Across the coffee table Mycroft woke. "Do you ever sleep, little brother?"

Sherlock's hand was softly running through John's hair. "Boring."

Mycroft glanced at the feed from C. Jim was sleeping soundly. "Apparently Moriarty disagrees with that assessment."

"No wonder, he's been physically and mentally taxed beyond reason. Not that I feel sorry for him," Sherlock added.

"Really?" Mycroft checked. "Because if that begins to happen I can have him removed."

"No. No, I don't feel sorry for him. He deserves it."

"Then he deserves what I'm going to do in a minute, but first. Go and put the kettle on."

"Haven't you got a job to go to?"

"I took a few days off." Mycroft shrugged as if it wasn't such a shock. "Unless you want me to leave?"

Sherlock bit his lip, thinking. "I don't think so, actually."

Mycroft smiled. "It's alright, little brother. Days can become weeks, unless some national terrorist crisis looms."

"We live in London. That's highly probable."

Mycroft acknowledged that with a shrug. "John and Gregory can always step into my place. I don't think it will be a problem for either of them."

"Even Lestrade? I can see John doing it, but I don't know about Greg."

"You just called him Greg?"

"And? Isn't that what he's calling himself at the moment?"

The government official rolled his eyes. "I'm fairly sure my boyfriend will cope. Now will you bloody well pour the coffee? I'm parched."

They sat drinking their coffee in silence, each man thinking about Jim down in C.

Sherlock looked up at a sound from the living room. Greg was awake; it seemed the aroma of the coffee had roused him.

"Should have known it wouldn't take him long with coffee looming." Mycroft grinned up at his boyfriend as he groggily walked into the kitchen.

"Yeah, well shame I can't say the same for John," Sherlock said with a smirk.

The DI poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it right where he stood. "Morning," he said when his mug was half drained. "What were you two chattering about?"

"You," Mycroft replied, stepping forward to peck him on the nose. "I thought you would do a fantastic job in my place should I be busy downstairs."

"Oh no, no, no. You aren't dumping the whole country at my feet."

Sherlock spit out the sip of coffee he had just taken. "I thought you meant he could take your place downstairs!"

Mycroft tossed him a tea towel. "Oh, no. I'm having too much fun. Gregory and John can run the country for a bit. Anthea will help, of course."

"What is going on?" Despite Sherlock's words, John had been woken up by the events in the kitchen and he appeared at the door. He saw the coffee all over the floor and turned his glare on his own boyfriend.

"Nothing, John," Sherlock replied. "Honest."

"You wouldn't know the meaning of the word if it hit you in the face."

"John, if I was you, I'd go back to sleep. My boyfriend is threatening us," Greg said with his arms crossed.

"It was not a threat. Sherlock was just wondering what would happen should a problem arise and I was stuck."

"Well," John pointed out, "in all honesty, I don't think Jim would give a shit if you upped and walked out. And anyway, we left him for over 2 days on that cross with that last case. If he's down in C, surely it doesn't matter?"

"What he said," Greg agreed fervently, pointing at the doctor. "Because there is no way I'm doing your job for you. My own is stressful enough."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Enough of this nonsense. Jim is getting rather ripe. We need to do something about it. My nose can't take it much longer."

Mycroft snatched his brother's mug from his hands and pushed him towards the door. "Come on then. Let's go and give him a wake up call he's unlikely to forget."

Mycroft crept down the stairs of 221C, Sherlock on his heels, he managed to get right across the room without a noise before he bent over and yelled, "Wake up, boy!" Whilst kicking his trapped bollocks at the same time.

Jim woke with a cry of pain. He curled in on himself, trying to protect his privates. He was in too much shock to beg Sherlock for protection.

"Think carefully now, boy," Mycroft spoke slowly. "Have you got something to say?" He gave him another kick.

Moriarty just whimpered. "Yes, sir," he choked out.

"Speak then."

"I'm sorry, sir, for last night."

"Hm, I suppose he's all yours then, Sherlock." Mycroft stepped back out of the way.

The detective moved into the space vacated by his brother. "It's finally time for that bath, boy. The cuffs have to stay on, though." He reached up and unfastened the chain from his collar.

Jim didn't fight, he still looked absolutely shattered.


	7. Trouble

"Mycroft, would you go and start the water running?" Sherlock requested.

The government official inclined his head. "Of course."

Sherlock ran his hand through Jim's hair. "You need to promise me you'll be a good boy. If you don't, I won't ever be able to remove that." He tapped the humbler still between his legs.

"I promise, sir. Please," the Irishman begged.

Sherlock smoothed down his messy hair. "We'll see. Now, follow me." The detective led the way to the bathroom.

Jim didn't have the strength to move and, even if he tried slowly, his bollocks ached something fierce. 

"Get a move on, boy!" Mycroft yelled from the bathroom door. "Or I'll put you on the cross and get the hose out."

Jim clawed his way a few inches across the floor, then collapsed. After a moment's debate, Sherlock picked him up and carried him through to the bathroom. "You can put him on the cross after his bath."

Jim looked absolutely terrified. It was such a strange sight on the criminal mastermind. "No, sir, please, no. I'm sorry, sir, honestly."

Mycroft grinned at Moriarty with an evil leer.

"Hush, now, boy," Sherlock told Jim. "Behave very good for me and I might not let him."

Jim nodded as enthusiastically as he could manage. "Yes, sir. I'll be good, sir."

Sherlock glanced over his head at his brother. Mycroft winked. Seems like everything was going to plan so far. "Mycroft, would you care to remove the humbler?"

The government official made a show of grumbling as he removed the device. "You're too soft on him, Sherlock," he added when he was done.

"I didn't ask your opinion." the detective helped Jim into the warm water. "There, how does that feel?"

The Irishman replied swiftly, "Good, sir. Thank you."

They needed to appear on different sides in front of Jim. He needed to think they argued about what was happening. Make him think he stood a chance.

"Just rest back now. I'll take care of you." Sherlock washed Jim gently, taking care where his bruises and abrasions were particularly bad. "Is the water warm enough for you, boy?"

"Yes, sir." Jim slouched down in the water, then panicked. "Is this okay, sir?"

Sherlock nodded. "It's fine." He didn't know what else to say, he was sure the Irishman was only being like this because he was so exhausted, mentally and physically. He knew it wouldn't last, but he found himself wishing it would. The detective cupped his hand and used it to pour water over Jim's hair. The consulting criminal closed his eyes and didn't complain when rivulets of water flowed down his face. It was proof just how dirty he was, leaving marks where the water touched. "Mycroft, will you fetch some dry handcuffs?"

The older Holmes nodded. "He'll be going back in that humbler when he gets out as well."

Sherlock didn't have proper shampoo, so he used the soap to wash Jim's hair. The consulting criminal didn't seem to mind one bit. The water was so filthy, Sherlock decided to drain the tub and fill it again. If he was going to have to touch Moriarty, he wanted him as clean as possible. As Sherlock drained the water out, it left his captive, shivering in the cold air. He made sure to take his time as he turned the taps back on again. 

Jim sat with his head bowed low as he shivered. His cuffed wrists sat in his lap. His shivering subsided as the water rose, but he kept his head bowed low, sure that was the right thing to do.

Sherlock rinsed Jim's hair once again as well as the rest of him that extended above the water. "I think that should do it." He let the water drain again, then helped Jim out of the tub. "Kneel up on the floor right here." He pointed to a spot on the bathroom floor.

Jim paused, he didn't want to. Kneeling there didn't really appeal, he knew the second he did that blasted humbler would be back. 

"Kneel right now, boy, or I will leave my brother to deal with you."

Jim shuddered visibly and dropped to his knees so hard a loud crack could be heard as he hit the floor.

Sherlock held out his hand and took the humbler from his brother. As he put it in place, a huge tear ran down Moriarty's cheek. Sherlock ignored it and took the cuffs from his brother. With a nod, the older Holmes knelt in front of Jim and held his arms tightly while Sherlock swapped the cuffs with dry ones. 

"Now, you hesitated. That is something you must learn to never do. If I give you an order you will follow it. Immediately."

"Yes, sir," Jim whispered, sniffing to himself. 

"We can't let that behaviour go unpunished, so Mycroft will decide what is to be done with you."

The government official clapped his hands together with glee. "First of all, crawl back into the main room." He smacked Jim in the back of the head. "Get moving!"

The consulting criminal flinched, but began to crawl into the other room. His bollocks tugged and pulled as the humbler held them in a slightly different position than before. 

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's arm and whispered, "what are you going to do to him?"

Mycroft shrugged. He hadn't made up his mind yet. "Any suggestions, brother mine?"

"Beat his bollocks again."

"Seriously?"

"I want to step in and stop you. We need to keep up this good cop, bad cop as much as possible."

"His bollocks it is." Mycroft strode into the room with purpose. He selected a flogger this time, worried that anything else might cause permanent damage. He stood in front of Jim, swinging the flogger.

The consulting criminal ducked his head and closed his eyes, he knew exactly what Mycroft was going to do with it. When it whipped at his bollocks he whimpered. "Sir, please don't do this."

Mycroft shook his head. "That was the wrong thing to say." Mycroft struck him again and again, ignoring Jim's whimpers and cries.

Sherlock waited a while longer until Jim was openly sobbing before he stepped into the room and snatched the flogger off his brother. "Enough of that."

"He was being punished, Sherlock."

"I'm well aware of that. And he deserved it. But 30 strikes was a little excessive."

"Thank you, thank you." Jim tried to move towards Sherlock, but fell over on his face. He cried out as the humbler pulled on his throbbing bollocks.

Mycroft laughed. "You should think yourself lucky, boy."

"Y-yes, sir," Moriarty muttered trying to get back onto all fours. 

Sherlock reached down and used his now clean hair to do just that, lifting him into place.

Jim didn't offer to complain at the rough handling. It was better than what he would get at Mycroft's hands. "Thank you, sir."

For a long moment, Sherlock looked at Moriarty. "I suppose you'll be wanting food again. Be good, eat the cereal and I might bring you a treat later."

Jim let his head fall between his shoulders. They were struggling to hold him up. 

Sherlock sorted out the bran flakes and instructed Moriarty to kneel up.

The consulting criminal did as he was told with considerable effort. This time, when Sherlock began feeding him, the cereal actually tasted good. He was so hungry, anything would have tasted good. He ate every mouthful without complaint. "Thank you, sir," Jim whispered when he was done. 

Sherlock let a smile creep into the corner of his mouth. "That'll do for now." He jerked his head towards the mattress. "Go and lie down."

Moriarty made his way slowly to the mattress and lay down. He buried his head in his arms and tried not to make a sound. He didn't want to draw Mycroft's attention.

Jim didn't know that Mycroft was already watching him. The government official only stopped watching him because his phone buzzed. "Bollocks," he hissed when he saw it was Anthea.

With one glance at his brother, Sherlock deduced that Mycroft was needed elsewhere. A second glance, and he realised he was needed as well. He attached the chain to Jim's posture collar. "I have to go now, boy. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Jim didn't argue, he just wanted to sleep. 

Sherlock also attached the humbler to the wall. He quickly ruffled Jim's hair and turned to his brother. "Come on then."

In the hall, Mycroft actually sneered at his phone. "How inconvenient." He shoved his phone in his pocket. "I don't want to go back to work."

Sherlock laughed. "I thought I was meant to be the childish one."

"I suppose we both can be with a toy in the basement. You'll want back up, but someone should stay with him. I don't want him resting too much."

"Well Greg can stay here, John will come with me."

Mycroft nodded his agreement as they plodded up the stairs. "I'll have him reassigned to me temporarily. He won't have to take leave that way." He pushed the door open to B. "I should have done it before now."

Greg and John were sat around the coffee table chatting about a cold case they'd solved a few weeks ago. 

"You two are back quicker than we thought," Greg got to his feet and skipped across the room. 

"I'm you're new boss!" Mycroft said with a smirk.

"I don't remember applying with MI5," the DI quipped.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg's waist. "It's only temporary. Just until the matter in C has been dealt with."

"It's not going to be 'dealt with'. Unless Sherlock gets bored, this is forever," the DI pointed out.

"I mean, until Sherlock can manage him alone. Or just with John. For now, you still get paid, your reputation is intact and you can help here too."

The DI narrowed his eyes. "Something's come up, hasn't it? Otherwise you wouldn't need me here."

"See, that's why I insist on working with Gavin. He's moderately intelligent," Sherlock observed.

"My boyfriend is very intelligent, thank you very much."

Sherlock poked his tongue out at his brother. "We've been summoned by his PA and I need John to shoot the bad guys for me."

Greg laughed. "Rather him than me."

"Our thoughts exactly. Sherlock, get your shoes. Gregory, keep our resident dog awake. John, where's your gun?"

"Ah, be right back. I have to hide it from Sherlock." John went up to his old room and came back, tucking it into his waistband.

"Do you really not know where he keeps it, brother-mine?"

Sherlock simply glared at his brother and didn't utter a word.

"Looks like John's 1-0 up," Greg laughed, ruffling the detectives curls as if he was a small dog on the way through to the kitchen. 

"We'd better get going," the detective insisted.

"We'll want food later, Greg," John called out, grabbing his and Sherlock's coats. 

"I'll call for take out. I'm not cooking in this place. There's too many toes and fingers hanging around."

John leaned in as he walked passed Greg. "Probably for the best. He filled the sugar bowl with arsenic once."

Greg paled, thinking about the coffee he had drunk earlier..

"Oh it's alright, he knows the consequences of doing that again."

Sherlock blushed furiously and raced out of the flat. "Bye Gavin!"

"It's Greg, you arse!" the DI shouted after him. "From now on, I'm only drinking coffee from Speedy's," he mumbled to himself."

Sherlock actually ran back into the flat, having heard every word. "You'd better watch yourself, Geoff, Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper!" He did a perfect impression of their landlady.

The DI shoved his hands in his pockets. "Myc, get him out of here," he said plaintively.

Mycroft and John both herded the detective from the flat and down the stairs.

Greg didn't relax until he heard the outside door shut. He sighed in relief and lent back against the unit. He decided he'd need another coffee before he could face Moriarty, so he headed downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door not long after Greg knocked. She greeted him with a smile. "Are the boys not in? I thought I heard them earlier, dear."

"They've gone out. Mycroft got called in and needed Sherlock's help. I've been left with our resident guest."

Mrs. Hudson glanced down towards C, making a face. She lowered her voice. "You be careful with him, young man." More loudly, she asked, "Would you like some tea?"

"I was hoping for coffee, actually."

"Has Sherlock been putting arsenic in the sugar again?"

"How'd you know?"

"He gave me the wrong pot one day. John came down in a panic."

Greg gave Mrs. Hudson a hug as he chuckled.

"I'll make you some coffee, dear, then you go do whatever it is you need to do," the old lady offered.

He waited around the kitchen until she pressed a mug of coffee into his hand.

"Off you go now," she said with a smile.

Greg grinned and took a sip, feeling far more comfortable now. Then he headed out of Mrs. Hudson's flat and down the stairs into C.

Inside C, Moriarty was asleep on the mattress. Greg slammed the door behind him, smiling grimly when the consulting criminal jerked awake.

Jim looked up, groggily, hoping to see Sherlock and not Mycroft. It wasn't either. He smiled, no way was this an accident. What did they expect Greg to do to him? Bore him to death?

The DI pulled out a chair and sat. Jim looked even worse in person. He wondered what he was supposed to do. Mycroft had said to keep him awake. Well, he could do that much.

"Hello Greggy," Jim said with a smirk. 

The DI just let an eyebrow raise as he sipped his coffee. "I trust you had a pleasant bath? Shame your bollocks look a little sore."

Jim decided not to say anything to that. He needed to lull the DI into complacency. Perhaps he could get him to unchain him at the very least under the excuse of letting him sit up. "I uh… upset Mycroft."

"Of course you did."

"I didn't realise he was so sensitive."

"You threatened his baby brother. What did you expect?" Greg drained his mug and sat it on the table.

"Honestly, I expected to be dead. Not this." Moriarty shifted, making a show of trying to get comfortable.

Greg got to his feet and wandered over towards him. He nudged his red bollocks with his shoe. Jim hissed at the pressure. When Greg crouched down to have a closer look, Jim reached his cuffs over his head and yanked Greg's head back.

The DI wrapped his fingers around Jim's wrists and pulled. His feet scrambled against the floor as he tried to gain leverage. He had to break free soon or he would black out.

Across London Sherlock was following his brother and John into the Diogenes, but he couldn't resist checking on his toy at home. When he brought the security feed up and glanced at the screen he didn't like what he saw. 

"Mycroft!" He yelled, despite the 'quiet' room. "We need to go! Now!"

Greg lay passed out on the floor in front of a manic Moriarty. The consulting criminal brought his cuffed fists down on him over and over, laughing the entire time.

Sherlock charged through the club, Mycroft trying to keep up, but failing. 

"Sherlock what the hell?" John snapped as his boyfriend threw himself behind the wheel. 

"Get in!" Sherlock shouted. The detective drove like a madman.

"Tell us what the fuck is going on and do it now," John demanded.

"It's Greg," Sherlock explained. "He's in trouble. Be ready with your gun."

John was stunned. "What the-"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft barked from the passenger seat. 

Sherlock thrust his phone into his brother's hand. One glance at the screen and Mycroft's blood ran cold. "Drive faster."

Sherlock took the next turn so fast, he almost went up on two wheels.

"Bloody... Someone tell me what's happening!" John shouted.

"Moriarty has incapacitated Gregory," the government official said in a too calm voice. "We have to get there before he kills him." Mycroft threw his brother's phone into the back seat for John to see. 

"You're brother's right, Sherlock, speed up!"

The detective pulled up outside 221, one of the front tyres resting on the kerb. The three men flew out of the car, John taking the lead with his SIG drawn and at the ready. The doctor kicked the door in and charged down the stairs. The response wasn't what they were expecting. 

On sight of Mycroft, Jim shrivelled up into a ball in the corner. John palmed the gun off to Mycroft and bent to examine Greg. 

"Is he ok?" The government official asked, trying not to let his voice waver.

John didn't answer. He was too busy examining Greg. The DI's pulse was strong and he seemed to be breathing evenly, if a bit shallow. "Come on Greg, wake up." He patted the side of the DI's face as he lifted him into his atms. "Mycroft's worried about you, Greg. Stop scaring him." But the DI didn't respond.

Mycroft moved across the room and pressed John's gun beneath Jim's chin. "If he dies, so will you." The older man glanced at the prone form of Greg. "If he doesn't," he shook his head with mock sadness. "Is it ok to move him?"

John nodded. "He's just unconscious, he'll wake up with a headache, but he'll be fine."

"Sherlock, help me get this on the cross." He thudded the gun on Jim's head.

The consulting criminal crumpled, much to Mycroft's satisfaction. He and his brother uncuffed Jim, removed the humbler and mounted Moriarty on the cross. It was all the government official could do not to strangle the man as he hung there.

"Mycroft," John called. "Greg needs you. Help us get him upstairs."

Mycroft turned on Jim. "You will pay for this."Before the older Holmes helped with Greg he forced a long dildo gag into Jim's mouth and buckled the back of the collar to the cross. "Come on Sherlock," Mycroft ordered, bending down and picking Greg up.

The detective wasn't really needed. Mycroft had lifted Greg in his arms all by himself. All that was left for Sherlock to do was to open doors for his brother as they went. He glanced over his shoulder as the others left. "I'll be back to sort you out in a few days." Jim looked completely shellshocked, but Sherlock shook his head and flicked the lights off, locking the door behind him.

Mycroft placed Greg gently on the sofa in B. He touched his face tenderly, and Greg turned his head into it with a moan. The DI's eyes came open and he let out a low groan.

"Greg," Mycroft sighed in relief. "John, he's awake!"

The doctor couldn't help but smirk at Mycroft's concern, it had grown rather more prominent over recent weeks.

"Ow," the DI groaned out, his voice raspy. His hand moved to his throat, causing him to wince. "Did a building fall on me?"

"No, an Irishman did."

"Oh, yeah," Greg tried to sit up, but John held him back down by his shoulder. 

"Take it easy mate or you'll get dizzy," the doctor cautioned.

Greg didn't argue, just lay back on the sofa. "You don't have to convince me," he rasped.

"If you start having trouble breathing, don't wait. Let me know. It could be your throat swelling." John had Greg's shirt rucked up and was checking for signs of internal bleeding. "Does anywhere hurt specifically?"

"Just my head. I think I whacked it on the floor."

The doctor nodded, checking for concussion. "We may have to get you to A&E."

"No one is to see the thing downstairs alone," Mycroft ordered from where he leant back against the wall, arms folded.

The DI held up his hand in protest. "I'm not going anywhere." 

John disagreed. "You lost consciousness. Whether from being choked or from hitting your head, we don't know."

"If I feel ill, I'll tell you. Being sat in A&E for 6 hours for them to tell me I'm fine is not worth my time or anyone else's."

"I'm the British Government," Mycroft put in. "You could get through A&E fairly quickly."

Greg glared at his boyfriend, "Shut up."

John looked to Sherlock for support.

"What?" the detective asked, a biscuit hanging out of his mouth. He swiftly chewed it and swallowed it. "He's a grown man."

"Not helpful, babe."

"He's hardly going to listen to anything I have to say, is he?" Sherlock argued as he snatched up another biscuit. 

"My little brother has a point, John."

"Fine." John slapped his knees and stood, glaring at each man in turn. "Ignore what the doctor has to say. He's the only one that actually went to medical school, but just disregard that."

"John, you're missing the point," Greg sighed. 

"Oh am I? Something else I'm doing wrong."

Sherlock snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to make him 'chill out a bit'.

Greg tried again, "The reason I don't want to go to hospital is the fact you are a doctor."

John leaned back into Sherlock, sighing. "Alright, but tell me immediately if you start to feel unwell."

"He will." The detective kissed the back of John's head. All he wanted to do was hold the doctor, but Jim needed to be dealt with and soon.

"Stop worrying," Mycroft ordered his brother. "You told him you'd leave him a few days. That's exactly right. Leave him there, then punish him after a few days."

The detective breathed easier. He wanted Moriarty severely punished. He had been afraid Mycroft would want him dead.

"Oh trust me, little brother," Mycroft shook his head. "I want him less dead now than I did a month ago when you brought this to me as an idea."

John frowned, surprised at the pronouncement. "Um, why is that?"

"I want him to suffer," Mycroft hissed. "He hurt Gregory. That was a mistake."

Sherlock let his eyebrow rise, then moved his gaze to John briefly, hoping only Mycroft saw it. 

The government official inclined his head. He could now understand just how much his brother had come to love John and what he was willing to do for that.

Greg sat up slowly, hissing occasionally. "Honestly, I'm fine. All of this fuss is ridiculous. I should have known better than to get so close to him, no matter how pathetic he looked."

"He'll look fucking pathetic in 3 days." All eyes turned on Mycroft and the government official cleared his throat. "Sorry. Sorry, did I say that out loud?"

"Um, yes." Greg patted the sofa next to him. "Sit with me. That's the only thing that stands a chance of making me feel better."

Mycroft looked incredibly awkward. "I… er…"

Sherlock smirked at the lack of words coming from his brother. For the first time. Ever. 

"Holmes. Here. Now." The DI pointed to the cushion.

That made Mycroft shift across the room, pressing his umbrella into his brother's hands as he sat beside the DI.

"That's better." Greg leaned against his boyfriend. "Although I wouldn't object to a spot of tea."

John snorted. "Decaf only. We still don't know for sure that you don't have concussion."

"Surely caffeine will help," Greg argued. 

"No! I'm the doctor… you're the… man sitting on the chair."

Sherlock laughed out loud at that and popped another biscuit in his mouth.

"It's not funny, Sherlock!" Greg complained.

"Yes it is, Gavin."

"Oh, bloody... Don't start that again. We all know you know my name."

"Boring. Mycroft, I want to go and play."

The older Holmes stood immediately. "No, little brother. He isn't your action man."

Sherlock turned his nose up at that. "It was Spider-Man and it was redbeard who chewed its head off not me." 

Mycroft didn't reply to that.  

Greg tried to stand, but the government official held onto him. "Unless you plan on going to the loo with me, you need to let go, babe."

Mycroft shook his head. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Ahh, Mycie cares about me," Greg turned and pecked him on the nose. 

"Well… what happens if you fall over in the bathroom?"

"Come on, then. Be my crutch." Greg stood up and leaned on his boyfriend even though it was entirely unnecessary. He made a point of relying on Mycroft so much, the older man actually picked him up and carried him.


	8. Three Days

Three days later and Sherlock was pacing outside 221C waiting for the arrival of his brother. The pair had moved into John's old bedroom and they'd spent the few days moving in whatever they'd need for however long they stayed.

Mycroft came down the stairs and saw his brother. "Sherlock, calm down." Even as he said it, he knew what Sherlock was going through. None of them had seen the consulting criminal since they'd tied him to the cross three days previous.

Sherlock paced the short hallway a few times, then stopped facing his brother. "Just open it."

"I will, baby brother, but remember you're the one that has to be sympathetic to his plight. You can't do anything to him because of Gregory."

"No. That will be you."

As they descended the stairs, Mycroft flicked on the light. Before them was a bound and weak Moriarty, literally hanging from his wrists. 

Mycroft stepped forward and slapped him. "Who told you you could sleep, boy?!"

Jim opened his eyes and groaned. He was hungry, thirsty and ached all over. The worst was his thirst. He knew if he didn't get something to drink soon, nothing else would matter.

His throat was raw and the gag didn't help. Sherlock kept out of the way to let Mycroft have his fun for a few minutes. Then he would step in and give Moriarty a drink, but that would be it until Mycroft had had enough, at least.

Mycroft pinched, prodded and hit Jim. "I don't know why I should let you live. You hurt Gregory. That's completely unacceptable." Let Moriarty think his life was in danger. Let him think Sherlock was the only reason he was alive. It was the truth, after all.

Jim didn't even have the energy to lift his head.

"When I'm through with you, you are going to thank my brother for letting you live. When I'm through with you," Mycroft repeated, gripping his hair and yanking his head back.

Sherlock placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You can't make him suffer if he dies of dehydration. Back off for five minutes."

The two brothers appeared to stare each other down, Mycroft finally looking away.

Sherlock stared at the consulting criminal for a moment while he gathered up a glass of water. Then he unbuckled the gag, warning Moriarty what would happen if he so much as breathed out of turn. He placed a straw between his lips.

Jim drank greedily, too fast in fact. His stomach heaved as he felt nauseous, but he couldn't stop himself.

Sherlock did, he stepped back, taking the glass with him. "If you're trying to drown yourself to get out of this, I may join Mycroft's side."

"No, sir," Jim croaked, voice weak and jaw stiff. "Sorry, sir."

"Promise to be a good boy for me and drink it slowly." Sherlock held the straw just out of Jim's reach.

"Sir, I promise."

Sherlock glanced at his brother as he held the straw within Moriarty's reach. Jim sipped at the water until the glass was empty, but it wasn't enough.

"Sir, please," he begged.

"Not yet. I have to let my brother have some time with you. It's your own fault. You hurt his boyfriend. Bad boys have to be punished. You may have more water in a few minutes."

"Sir-"

Sherlock shook his head as he forced the dildo back into Jim's mouth. "He's all yours, brother mine."

Mycroft took his place in front of Jim. Very slowly, he raised his hands and placed them around the consulting criminal's throat. "I believe you started out by choking Gregory. How much pressure did you use? Shall I tighten my grip? See how long it takes you to pass out?"

Sherlock stood back and watched, unsure if the reason Jim wasn't struggling was through exhaustion or guilt. It was getting hard to tell. 

Mycroft released his grip after 20 seconds and stared at the consulting criminal who was finding it far harder to breath with the gag blocking most of his throat.

"Go ahead, give him more water. He's no fun like this," Mycroft said with mock disgust as he turned to face his brother. He gave him a wink. "You might as well feed him as well, but I get to wash away the filth with a hose. Maybe then I'll be able to get a reaction out of him."

"We've left him in that position for the last 3 days. Don't you think-"

"He should spend a little longer there?" Mycroft grinned. "Yes, he should. I'll fetch some food."

Sherlock smoothed back Moriarty's hair. "I can't deny my brother his satisfaction. You're going to have to take whatever he gives you… and he can be creative." The detective fetched another glass of water. Jim glared at him, but it was weak. When he averted his eyes, Sherlock smiled and reached up to remove the gag once again. "Glad to see you learning, boy." He tried again with the straw.

Jim accepted it immediately and started drinking at the slow pace he knew Sherlock approved of. He didn't want to upset him. The detective was his only hope once Mycroft started in on him. Part of him thought he did deserve it. He deserved whatever Mycroft was going to do to him. He shouldn't have hurt Greg like that. 

It wasn't long before Mycroft returned with the bowl of bran flakes. When he had been upstairs he had found Greg and John both watching them on the live footage. It had just made him want to get far rougher with him.

Moriarty didn't offer an objection to the food. He ate it, grateful for anything to fill his stomach. Sherlock fed it to him at a steady pace. It was far too fast, Jim knew he'd be at Mycroft's mercy when the cereal was gone.

Mycroft stood back with folded arms and a cold expression lining his face. 

"Please," Jim begged, "please, I'm sorry. Don't let hi-"

Grasping the consulting criminal's chin, Sherlock hissed at him. "You are not being a good boy for me."

Jim cowed back immediately. It shocked Sherlock far more than it should have done. He let go of his chin and held another spoon at his lips. "Now eat."

Moriarty continued to eat as the food was spooned into his mouth. When he saw that the bowl was empty, he whimpered. With the last of his strength, he started fighting his bonds from sheer panic.

Sherlock didn't know quite what to do, but was surprised when Mycroft dropped a hand on his shoulder. 

"It's alright, little brother."

Sherlock nodded. He wouldn't leave completely, but he'd step back. "Be good for my brother, and this doesn't have to go the way he planned - not entirely, at least."

Jim nodded, his futile struggles ceased. "Yes, sir," he whispered. It was hopeless and it was his own fault for hurting the DI.

"Help me get him down and restrained, Sherlock. I'll hose him down with cold water in the bathroom. I want to make sure he's squeaky clean both inside and out." Mycroft gripped Jim's head by his grubby hair, making the consulting criminal wince. 

Sherlock moved to detach the collar, and cuffs from the cross then cuffed them behind him, before sorting out his feet. Mycroft caught him by his grip on his hair when he fell. His knees still hit the floor with a painful sounding thud. Jim tried to scrabble along after the government official, but he was still too weak. Sherlock stepped up and put a hand under Moriarty's arm. He helped drag him to the bathroom.

Mycroft threw him to the floor so he landed in the corner where there was a small tiled area. 

"Please, sir-" he croaked. "I'm sorry."

With a thin smile, Mycroft reached for an enema bag. "Arse in the air, boy. I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

When Sherlock folded his arms, Jim whimpered, but he soon turned over as best he could with his wrists cuffed behind him. There wasn't much point in fighting. 

He didn't even fight when he felt the nozzle enter him. He only whimpered and closed his eyes. The cold tile against his cheek provided him with something to concentrate on besides the sensation of being filled.

Mycroft watched him slightly confused. He had to admit, it was slightly easier to do this to him when he fought against it. He glanced at his brother, but Sherlock just shrugged. Telling himself it was necessary, Mycroft used the hose they had installed to spray cold water over Jim's body. The consulting criminal shivered against the tiles and whimpered, but still didn't move. Content he was now just cold and not dirty, Mycroft turned the power down on the hose and joined it to the nozzle in their captive's arse. Jim just bit his lip as the cold water gushed into him.

Sherlock caught his brother's eye again and raised an eyebrow in question. In answer, Mycroft tilted his head towards Jim. He gave a nod. This was good, very good. Turning the water off, he told Moriarty, "Keep that inside you until I tell you otherwise." 

In a voice void of inflection, Jim said, "Yes, sir."

Jim tried his utmost to keep the slippery nozzle inside him. He didn't want to give Mycroft reason to hurt him more than he planned. He also didn't want to let Sherlock down. He had to be good for the detective, then Sherlock might save him. He'd do anything for him if he did. He'd kiss his feet, kneel for him, anything. 

Mycroft watched as the cramps wracked through him and Jim did nothing but lay there, his arse clutching around the nozzle. Mycroft stepped forward and kicked his belly with his toe. The consulting criminal just whimpered. "I'm sorry, sir," he choked out.

Forcing himself to wait, to let the discomfort Jim was feeling become true pain, Mycroft crouched down and grabbed him by the hair. "If I had my way, I would flay you alive. Tell my brother thank you for saving your miserable life."

Jim didn't hesitate. He glanced at the younger Holmes. "Thank you, sir."

Mycroft shook him. "Tell him why you're thanking him."

"For saving my miserable life, sir."

"Get up!" Mycroft barked. He turned the hose on Jim. "You don't get to use the toilet. You're little more than an animal. Let it go where you are." He sprayed the man down like an animal at the zoo.

Jim just went with it, using the wall to hold himself up. 

Mycroft had to admit that this development had been unforeseen. Especially this early on. He supposed, for Jim, 2 weeks must have been closer to 2 months.

Turning off the water, Mycroft tossed the hose to the side. He grasped a handful of Jim's hair and pulled him to his knees.

Sherlock placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and spoke sternly, "I'll dry him." Taking a towel, the detective crouched down in front of Moriarty, starting to dry him gently. "You've been a very good boy so far, keep it up for me a bit longer."

Jim's eyes darted to Mycroft and then back to Sherlock. "Yes, sir." He bowed his head as Sherlock finished drying him off. 

"Come on, Sherlock," Mycroft said, clearly bored already. 

"What are you going to do to him now?"

The smile that Mycroft wore on his face was chilling. It didn't match how he felt. It was difficult, tormenting an apparently broken man, but he had to be sure with Moriarty. "You'll both find out soon enough. Now, boy, it's back to the other room for you. Go."

"Yes, sir," Jim whispered, before beginning to get to his feet. 

Mycroft slapped him across the face and gripped his hand in his hair. He proceeded to drag him out of the small bathroom on his knees. "You don't use your feet, boy, cuffed or not."

Sherlock realised that now he had apparently broken (the jury was out on that one) they need to teach him.

Mycroft had come to the same conclusion himself. He shoved Jim face first to the floor. "That was pathetic. Make a circuit of the room."

Jim whimpered, but began to awkwardly knee walk around the edge of the room. 

"You're not going to-" Sherlock began.

Mycroft turned to face his brother, then pulled him to the side of the room. "There's no point now, is there? There's no criminal mastermind left anymore. At least, not for a while."

When Jim completed the first lap of the room, he kept going, head bowed.

"Stop!" Mycroft barked. "You know you're not the master here, you know you belong to Sherlock, but you still don't know your true place. You do nothing without his orders. You don't even breathe if he doesn't give you permission." Mycroft leant over and shoved Sherlock forward. 

The younger Holmes stumbled to a halt in the middle of the room. "Come here, boy! Kneel in front of me."

Moriarty made his way to the detective as fast as he could. Sherlock meant safety. He'd do anything for him.

"Good boy." Sherlock placed his hand on Jim's head. "Now tell me what you want." He was curious what the consulting criminal would say.

Jim thought for a moment. "Whatever you want, sir."

"Master," Mycroft put in, stepping up beside his brother. 

Sherlock shot a look at the older Holmes who inclined his head.

"Whatever you want, master," Jim corrected himself, his head bowed.

Sherlock reached out and tipped his head back so he could look into his eyes. "Don't look away from me unless I give you permission."

That just made Jim cower back even more. "Sorry, master."

"Good." He shoved Jim's head down. "Stay." He stepped back, pulling Mycroft with him. "Can we take him upstairs now?"

"He should stay cuffed for now. I also think a collar and leash are appropriate." 

"Good." Sherlock turned towards Jim. "Fetch me a collar and leash. I don't care that you're cuffed, figure it out."

While Jim was busy Sherlock turned back to his brother. 

"He can't crawl the way he's cuffed."

Mycroft hummed slightly and watched as Jim returned, head bowed in front of Sherlock with the leash hanging from his mouth. Mycroft moved off to the side before returning. "Leash him," he ordered his brother as he fiddled with the cuffs. "Get on all fours."

Jim leant over, worried he'd upset Mycroft again. 

Mycroft set a length of chain a certain distance and cuffed him again. Now the chain ran from each wrist, but behind his back so he couldn't use it as leverage. He kicked his arse. "To the stairs. Move."

"Wait," Sherlock put out a hand. He cocked his head to the side and listened. "Alright, Mrs. H is out. Go on."

Moriarty started crawling towards the door to the flat, taking care to keep slack in his leash.

Sherlock watched him go closely for any sign of him yanking away, but he highly doubted he would, not over the next few days. The man was exhausted.

The stairs seemed to go on forever to the consulting criminal. His muscles were aching by the time Sherlock told him to stop. When the door to B opened, he crawled into it, stopping only when the detective said, "Heel," and pulled on his leash.

As if in slow motion, both Greg and John's heads turned from where they were leant over a newspaper. 

"Why is it here?" John snarled.

Sherlock prodded Jim's arse with his foot. "My slave has an apology to make, don't you, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Jim whispered, head hanging.

"I couldn't hear you, boy!" Sherlock snapped.

"Yes, sir," Moriarty said louder.

The detective pulled on the leash and dragged Jim in front of Greg. "Tell him how sorry you are. Make him believe it."

Before Jim reached Greg, Mycroft snatched the leash from his brother and yanked it hard. "I think you're forgetting something, boy."

Jim's eyes darted up to Sherlock's and he bit his lip. "I meant, master."

"Do not slip up again!"

"No, sir," he whispered as Mycroft kicked him towards the DI again. 

John watched on as events unfolded, but it was mostly in shock.

Jim had crawled to Greg's feet. "I'm sorry, sir, for attacking you." Without being told to do so, he lowered his head and kissed the DI's shoes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Greg watched him for a moment, teeth bared. 

When Mycroft spotted his boyfriend was getting uncomfortable, he yanked the leash again making Jim choke. 

"Go back to Sherlock."

The detective had settled himself in his armchair.

Jim scuttled to the detective eagerly, kneeling up in front of him. He was almost glad when Sherlock laced his fingers into his hair.

"Good boy. You need to impress Greg and John with how good you can be."

John felt the need to make a point, so got to his feet, paced across the room and collapsed on Sherlock's lap. 

The detective grunted but then laughed, leaning up to kiss him. "Hello, babe."

"Did you just call me babe?"

Sherlock frowned. "That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is," the doctor said, pleased. "Now that he has apologised, what do you plan to do with him?" he asked, jerking his head in Moriarty's direction.

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not expecting this to last long."

"He needs training now, Sherlock," Mycroft offered. "A broken man is still a man."

Sherlock frowned down at Jim. After removing his leash, he nudged him with his foot. "Go. Kneel in the corner."

The four men watched him crawl to the corner and kneel.

"Hands behind your head!" Mycroft barked.

Jim struggled, the way the chain tied around him made it difficult, but eventually he interlocked his fingers behind his head.

"He needs to follow your commands flawlessly, every time," Mycroft told his brother. "Start with the basics: heel, kneel, corner, then build on that."

Sherlock nodded his understanding and kissed John, determined to give him as much time as he wanted. 

"And if he doesn't?" Greg asked from where he was still sat at the table.

With a thin smile in Jim's direction, Mycroft continued, "Then it's back down to C for correction." 

"I don't trust him, not yet," the DI declared. He rubbed his throat where bruising had appeared.

"I don't even think my brother is daft enough to trust him," Mycroft said.

Sherlock glared up at him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, big bro."

"You must admit you often act before thinking." Mycroft sat on the sofa alongside Greg who snorted his agreement. 

"And thank you, Gavin, for your support." 

"Sherlock, that joke's getting old," the doctor told his boyfriend.

The detective frowned, scowling at each of the other men - including the back of Jim's head - looking totally confused. 

"Joke?"

"You complete arse!" Greg threw the Union Jack pillow towards Sherlock, causing John to duck to avoid it.

In the corner, Jim still hadn't moved a muscle.

"What did you do to him?" John asked, nudging Sherlock's shoulder. 

"I didn't do anything. My brother did though… quite a lot actually."

"Actually, I think time deserves most of the credit," Mycroft countered. "It wore him down along with thirst, hunger and pain."

"I suppose, 3 days hanging from that cross was a lot." 

Greg glared at the doctor. "I hate your caring side sometimes."

"I don't care. I was just stating the obvious."

"Sherlock, is there anything deadly in your kitchen?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock glanced at the man on his lap. "John?"

"Only the knives. He hasn't had a chance to experiment for a while."

"John, go and collect them all. Then the thing in the corner can make us some tea."

It didn't take the doctor long to remove the knives. He looked through the drawers and cabinets in search of other potential weapons just in case. "That should be everything," he said cheerfully as he plopped down on Sherlock's knee again.

Mycroft stared at his brother pointedly until he understood what he meant. "Boy!" He yelled. "Turn and face me."

Slowly, the consulting criminal began to shift around, his hands still at his neck.

"Get to your feet." Sherlock ordered.

It took Jim some time to manage it since he was still cuffed, hand and foot. When he had managed it, he rested his hands on the back of his neck again.

"Come here."

In order to get close to Sherlock, Moriarty had to walk passed the older Holmes. He couldn't. He couldn't walk passed him, he'd punch him or trip him up.

"Now!" Sherlock barked.

"Sir, I... I can't. I -" Jim started visibly shaking where he stood. "Please, sir."

"Now!"

Jim looked between the brothers and his trembles doubled. "Master-"

With that, Mycroft stepped forward and gripped Moriarty by the throat "Do you fancy more time on the cross?"

"No, sir," Moriarty said in a cowed tone. "I'm sorry."

Mycroft moved his hand to Jim's back and shoved him towards the kitchen. "Then you do what Sherlock orders you to do. If he tells you to put your hand into the fire you do it or I'll devise something even worse."

"Yes, sir," Jim whimpered. He glanced at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, master."

"I don't care. If you disappoint me too much, I'll give you to Mycroft." He never would, but Jim didn't know that.

"Yes, master." Moriarty shuffled towards the kitchen, the chain between his ankles clinking. Once in the kitchen, he struggled to fill and turn on the kettle. He had just enough give in the chain between his wrists that he was able to manage it. He had to admit the way it wrapped around his back, preventing him from doing much was ingenious. No! No! He should not have those thoughts. He was sure Sherlock would disprove. 

Jim looked around for mugs, teacups, anything to use to make tea. There was nothing on the counter and he couldn't reach up to open the upper cabinets. He bit his lip hard, not knowing what to do.

After a few more minutes Mycroft kicked his brother's foot. 

"What?"

"Go and check on him."

Sherlock turned his glance on John. 

"Now, little brother."

The detective waited for John to get off his lap, then stood and went to the kitchen. He found Jim standing there, staring at the cabinets. "What's taking so long?"

Moriarty startled. "Master, I can't reach them." He ducked his head, hating that he had disappointed Sherlock.

"Use your brain, it's the only reason you're still alive, after all. Either ask for help or figure out how to do what I've asked." The detective pulled a chair over to where Jim stood. "Climb up on this, you can do it if you're careful.'

Jim glanced at his master. He had expected to be shouted at. "Yes, master. Sorry, master."

Sherlock nodded once. "The kitchen will be rearranged in a few days. This will be expected of you regularly and we can't have you taking forever all the time, can we?"

"No, master." Awkwardly, Jim climbed onto the chair. He found four mugs and set them on the counter. He wobbled once as he got down, but managed it without falling. He felt an urgent need to hurry lest Mycroft join his brother. He knew the government official wouldn't be so lenient.

Sherlock shoved the chair back under the table and folded his arms. "If I have to come out and watch you every time you do something, there's no point keeping you around as I may as well do it myself."

Jim nearly dropped the kettle at that. "Master, don't let him have me," he begged. "I'll do anything you ask, I promise." He almost fell to his knees to continue begging. Sherlock let his eyebrows raise and he did drop to his knees. "Master, please, I know I deserve it. Deserve him, but please, sir, I-"

"That's enough. Get up."

Breathing heavily, Moriarty climbed to his feet. He didn't know what to do, but Sherlock was glaring at him. With shaking hands, Jim resumed his task of making tea.

"There's a tray over there," Sherlock pointed to the corner, turned on his heel and headed backwards into the other room. 

John had stolen his armchair so he crouched down and plonked himself on the doctor's lap.

"He needs a routine," John mused. "Nothing complicated, but one he is held responsible for. No deviations allowed."

"Hmm." Sherlock distracted himself by snogging the doctor. "Later."

"Sooner rather than later, little bro," Mycroft said from his own position on Greg's lap.

"Boring," the detective intoned.

John patted Sherlock's curls. "I'll come up with one. All you'll have to do is enforce it. How's that sound?"

"Less boring."

John laughed, but it drifted off when Moriarty appeared at the door. 

"Kneel!" Sherlock barked. 

Jim knelt in front of him, placing the tea tray on the table.


	9. Still Us

"I've got a present for you, little brother," Mycroft got to his feet and moved to his laptop bag. "Or rather the present is for that." He nodded in Jim's direction and the consulting criminal whimpered. 

He threw a collar across the room and Sherlock caught it easily. "It's the same as that one."

"Nope. It's electrified. Not enough to kill him, but it will incapacitate him if you set it right, you can also use it for general correction. There's also a sensor in it that will knock him out if he leaves 221 without our consent."

Beside the government official, Greg heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't trust the chains to keep Jim in line anymore, not the way his neck still hurt from the consulting criminal's attack. "I could've used that earlier, myself."

"I'm sorry, Gregory, but it wasn't ready when we left you with him." Mycroft reached out and tenderly touched the bruising on the DI's neck. "We shouldn't have left you alone with him."

"It won't happen again," Sherlock said with confidence. He kicked out at Jim, "I think you should apologise to the good inspector again, boy. Then come and kneel in front of me. Time for your new toy."

Moriarty crawled the short distance to Greg and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry for hurting you, sir." He remained there until the DI gave him a rough shove with a foot.

"Get back to your master. I'm not interested in your apologies."

Jim whimpered and glanced back at Sherlock. 

"Move, boy!" Mycroft yelled. "Now! You don't get to pick and choose what orders to follow. Unless someone contradicts Sherlock. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered and immediately shuffled over to Sherlock. He bowed his head in front of him.

The detective grasped Jim's hair and pulled his head back so he could look into his dark eyes. "I told you to always look at me. I want to be able to see what you're thinking."

"I'm sorry, master. I'll try harder."

Sherlock just jerked his head. "Put your hands behind your back."

When Jim had obeyed, Sherlock reached forward and unbuckled the old collar. 

"As you can see, little brother, that one won't come off once it's on."

As if for the first time, Sherlock realised there was no seal, when it was around Jim's neck it almost disappeared. 

The elder Holmes continued, "The only way that will come off is an angle grinder."

"And how do we control it?" John asked, from where he had stood by Sherlock's chair.

Mycroft pulled four small remotes from his pocket. "With these. There's one for each of us." He placed two of them on the coffee tabled and handed one to Greg."

Jim fell very very still. Well aware that around him was danger. 

"Each remote has different strengths and the shock has a slightly different feel to it depending on which control sets it off. Mine for example, is the strongest." He pressed the button and watched as Jim doubled over. 

"Enough, Mycroft," Sherlock ordered.

"Are you sure, brother-mine? I really don't mind." Mycroft had let his tone go dangerous for Moriarty's benefit. "But since you ask…" He stopped pressing the button.

Jim collapsed into a heap on the floor, but Sherlock didn't let him rest. "Position, now!" the detective barked.

John knew he should be feeling sorry for the Irishman, but he steeled himself against it. He deserved everything he got, and should think himself lucky it was Sherlock's plan and not his older brother's.

As soon as Jim got himself upright, Sherlock beckoned him near. "Now that we have this," he tapped the collar, "we don't need the cuffs anymore. Not unless you're being punished." The detective removed the cuffs from both Jim's wrists and ankles. "What do you say, boy?"

"Thank you, master."

"Hmm. My brother and Greg want their tea. Take it to them."

"Yes, master." Slowly - he may have been restraint free, but he was still shattered - Jim turned and gathered up their mugs. 

"One at a time," the detective cautioned, "you'll take it to them, kneel and bow your head."

Jim took Greg his tea first, a fact that was missed by no one. When he started towards Mycroft, a low steady whine came from his lips. He had grown beyond terrified of the older Holmes brother. His old disdain for him had fled completely.

Mycroft just watched him get closer. "What have you done to it?" Mycroft snapped. 

Jim cowered back immediately. "S-sir?"

"Poison? Arsenic? Bleach?"

"N-nothing, sir, I promise." Jim looked around at Sherlock, wide eyed. "Master, I would never- not your brother, not him-" Jim's hand started shaking so that the tea sloshed everywhere.

Mycroft got to his feet immediately and snatched the mug from his hand. "Go and get a cloth right now or I will make you lick that up!"

On Jim's way back from the kitchen, cloth in hand, Sherlock grabbed his caged cock. "Wait there."

Jim shot a look over at Mycroft, still terrified. The government official was glad he had that impact on the Irishman. So were John and Greg, for that matter. Moriarty needed to be terrified of someone.

"You have to stop making these little mistakes, boy," Sherlock warned. "From this point forward, each one will result in punishment. Fail me too many times in a day and Mycroft can play with you."

Moriarty's eyes widened in horror. "No, master, please-"

"Shut it. Go and clear that mess up. If Mrs. Hudson has a go at me for it, I'll be taking it out on you."

"Yes, master." The speed at which Jim worked was almost comical. He was frantic to clean up the spill as fast as he could.

"Don't rush, boy. Do a good job of it." Sherlock looked at John, considering. "It looks like we have a housekeeper now, doesn't it? I do hope Mrs. Hudson doesn't get jealous."

"Speaking of Mrs. H, he can't crawl around in front of her with nothing on," John said, waving a hand at Jim. "He needs pants at the very least."

"Quite right, John," Mycroft agreed. "But he isn't wearing clothes."

"Then what?"

"I'm sure I can obtain a… pouch for his parts. Unless you fancy cutting them off completely Sherlock?"

The criminal mastermind's head shot up at that. "Master-"

"Shut it, boy, you get no say on the matter." He would never do that, he doubted he would have the stomach for it, that didn't mean he couldn't let the threat hang in the air.

Greg had gone pale at his boyfriend's suggestion. He crossed his legs protectively, suppressing a shudder. "You wouldn't really. Would you?"

"It's a thought to be considered," Sherlock said, straight faced.

Jim leant over the mess he had made and kept scrubbing. 

"Enough, boy!" Sherlock yelled after a while. "You're going to put a bloody hole in the floor. There's already 2 in the wall that Mrs. Hudson complains about regularly."

"Yes, master." Jim crawled as swiftly as he could to the kitchen to put away the towel and fetch tea for Mycroft. He thought about how he hated the government official, then he whined, afraid that Sherlock would know what he had been thinking. Jim walked straight to Mycroft, trying incredibly hard to not tremble while he held the mug. He dropped to his knees and held the mug out, making sure to not look up at the older man.

"Hm," the government official said as he took the mug, "I rather enjoy being waited on like this. I like it so much, I'm not tempted to use this." He waved the remote to Jim's collar in the air. "Wait, I really am." He held his finger over the button, waiting for Sherlock to intervene.

Sherlock wanted to see how his new slave would react. He had told him no more mistakes. 

He yelled out when Mycroft pressed the button and pressed his head to his feet. "Sir," he choked out, "please." After just a moment more, Mycroft released the button. "Thank you, sir." Jim had brought his hands in front of him and held onto Mycroft's shoes as he kissed them. "Thank you."

Mycroft let him carry on until eventually Sherlock intervened. 

"Have you had enough of playing with my toy yet, big brother?"

Mycroft 'hmm'ed noncomittedly. "I'm not entirely sure."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question.

"He's being rather boring today, baby brother," Mycroft said with a wistful expression. "He's not really been entertaining at all."

"I know. I almost miss him being naughty. At least it gave us something to do."

Mycroft's laugh made Moriarty flinch. 

Sherlock got to his feet, deciding on the spot what he was going to do. He grabbed John by the hand and tugged him towards their bedroom. "Be back later," he said with a wink, pushing John through the door. "Boy, my brother is in charge."

"No!" Jim scrambled for the door, climbing to his feet as he went.

Mycroft immediately pressed the button on the remote, bringing the fleeing man down. He held the button down until Jim was a crying mess on the floor, then let it go. "Well. He can still be naughty after all."

Sherlock poked his head out of the bedroom door and saw Jim a blubbering mess on the floor. 

"Mycie?" He mock complained. 

"I think we need to take it back downstairs, little brother."

"Not now, Mycroft," Sherlock whinged, then thought better of it. "Fine. You and Greg take him down. We'll be along later."

It was half an hour later that John and Sherlock joined them in 221C. They were in the small bathroom when they got there, Jim was a mess in the tiled corner. 

"What have you done to him, big brother?"

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that." Mycroft spoke to Jim, "Boy, tell my brother how much fun we've had."

Eyes wide, the consulting criminal looked from Mycroft to Sherlock. "Your brother and I have had a lot of f-fun, master." He was shivering from the cold and water dripped from the end of his nose. "Lots of fun."

Sherlock glanced at Greg. "You got your hands dirty, I see."

Greg smirked. "He lost it when we got down here, lashed out again. I didn't have much of a choice."

"That'll be why he's cuffed again, then."

"Yup. We were just getting started, really,"  Greg said cheerfully. "I thought we might want to use that machine on him. You know-"

"The fucking machine," Sherlock supplied for him. "That's why you've cleaned him out again." He nodded decisively. "Carry on."

"M-master," Moriarty begged. "P-p-please."

"You lashed out? Again? After what you did to Greg… put him back on the cross, the machine can connect to it." Sherlock shook his head in disgust. "I'll be back to deal with him later." Sherlock walked back towards the stairs. "You coming John? Or do you want to play."

"I'll stay just long enough to see how he reacts, then I'll be along."

"Fine." With a nod of his head, Sherlock disappeared.

Greg didn't wait for an invitation. He grasped Jim by the arm and pulled him towards the living room.

Jim didn't fight, or rather couldn't fight as he was pinned to the cross and tied up again. He closed his eyes, wanting to cry. 

When Mycroft began prodding his arse, he did begin to cry. "Master! Master, please!" He didn't know if Sherlock could hear him or not and he didn't know if he cared.

With interest, John drew near the begging man. "Look at you," he said harshly. "You want him to protect you, after everything you've done to him. You, the man who was going to burn the heart out of him. You don't deserve Sherlock's protection."

"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, then groaned as he felt something hard pressing into him. He hadn't been stretched, but Mycroft was persistent. 

"You don't know the meaning of the word sorry. But you will," John told him.

Mycroft managed to edge in the rest of the dildo and then smiled at the base that ran flush with his arse, apart from the rod that traveled down.

"Won't he... enjoy it?" John asked as he watched the other two men work. It was a question that had bothered him.

"He might at first, but it will become too much for him soon enough. Too much pleasure is akin to pain," Mycroft explained. "And it toys with the mind, doesn't it, boy?"

Moriarty actually sobbed. "Yes, sir." He hated himself right now. He shouldn't have lashed out at Mycroft, he had just been so terrified… he hadn't wanted Sherlock to leave him and then Mycroft had been… he had to stop thinking on what he wanted. It didn't matter anymore. If he let himself think, he'd continue to be in trouble.

Mycroft flipped the machine on, eliciting a choked cry from Moriarty. "That will do for a start, but I should have put something on the dildo to make it more interesting." He patted Jim's cheek. "I won't forget next time. And if I do, you will remind me. Won't you, boy?"

John honestly didn't know which why Jim would go but when he muttered out a, "yes, sir," he realised Mycroft and his little brother had done an amazing job, Jim was definitely broken.

"That's extraordinary, really, extraordinary." John stepped back from the cross. "I wonder how long it will be before Sherlock can use Jim's mind. I mean, that is what this is all about, right?"

"Oh, that will be some time, yet. As I said, the boy must be trained. That comes first." Mycroft increased the speed on the machine. "Be quiet, boy!" Mycroft ordered as Jim began whimpering. He was scared into silence, instead biting on his bottom lip. 

Greg wandered over and looked at the selection of gags. "The things you've come up with," he said, picking up a dildo shaped gag and waving it in the air. "I think this one." He tossed it to his boyfriend. Mycroft caught it in one hand.

"You'd be amazed at the variety of things that can be purchased or made." The government official tapped Jim on the lips with the head of the dildo and he immediately opened his mouth. "That's it. Open wide." He shoved the dildo into Jim's mouth roughly, then buckled it in place. He tugged his head back and joined the gag to the cross. Similar to how he had been tied for days. "Fetch a blindfold too, Gregory."

The DI nodded and went off in search of one. 

John got to his knees in front of the consulting criminal and poked his fingers through the cage bars. Jim hissed, his hips jerking. What the doctor was doing to him was incredibly frustrating. When John tapped on the end of the cage, jiggling the sound, the consulting criminal let out a broken moan.

"I told you to be quiet!" Mycroft snapped.

Jim flinched, involuntarily jerking the dildo thumping in and out of him. 

John removed he tip of the sound and placed a bucket beneath him. "I'm not going through the hassle of fixing his cock because you jam it shut."

"Details, John," Mycroft said lazily, "details I can't be bothered with."

"Yeah, well like I said, I'm not fixing anything that gets broken through carelessness. And you sounded an awfully lot like Sherlock just then."

Mycroft shrugged. "I'm been spending a lot of time with Sherlock recently, hadn't you noticed?"

John barked a laugh, "Oh I've noticed, I haven't had a 'bored' comment from him in weeks."

Behind the blindfold Mycroft had put on him, Jim had his eyes squeezed shut. He kept telling himself not to fight it. He was a thing, after all, a toy for them to play with. He couldn't let himself think, that was dangerous. He deserved this, he'd lashed out at Mycroft, the man he was the most terrified of. What had he been thinking? He groaned as the dildo shifted and rubbed over his prostate. He felt his cock tingling, but was unable to do anything else.

"Myc, I know I've mostly taken an inactive role up to this point, but I want a chance at him," Greg announced. "After what he did to me, I want to make sure he doesn't get the idea to hurt anyone else."

"Alright, Gregory. I recommend the crop. He likes it so very much."

All Moriarty wanted was Sherlock. He wanted his master back; to kneel at his feet and beg and beg and beg for as long as it took to be forgiven.

Swinging the crop through the air a few times to get the feel of it, Greg planned where he would strike Jim. He brought the crop down across the consulting criminal's chest, striking one of his nipples. The resulting jerk was oddly satisfying. It was matched when he did it to the other one. And then he began to aim at his bollocks from below. His aim was good enough that it missed his cock.

"Perhaps I should hire you on for such tasks. Your aim is perfect," Mycroft noted.

"I wouldn't want to." Greg brought the crop down again across Moriarty's right thigh. "I'm making an exception for this one. He'll never hurt anyone again when we're done." He threw the crop to the side after a while longer, bored of it. 

"Lets leave him to it," Mycroft ordered, taking Greg's hand and tugging him to the stairs. "Doctor Watson?"

"Coming. Coming." John followed the other two men from the room, eager to be back with Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock, for no apparent reason was laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling in the middle of the living room. Greg and Mycroft had gone to get Angelo's and John had gone for beer. 

"Lock?" Mycroft called, spotting his brother. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking. Obviously." He leapt to his feet, full of energy. "I'm not hungry," he said, spotting the bags of take away Greg was carrying.

"Naturally, but John will see to it that you eat anyway," the elder Holmes observed. "You know he will be even happier with you if you're eating when he gets here."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in his brother's direction. "Is that… blackmail?"

"In front of the Yard's finest? I'm shocked that you would think so little of me, baby brother."

"I know you, big brother, but fine. I'll eat something."

"It wasn't technically blackmail," Greg pointed out, shoving a pot of food in Sherlock's direction. "There was no threat."

"Oh, there was, and my little brother knows it."

At that, the detective stuck his tongue out at his brother. "You make John out to be some kind of a bully."

"Only where your health is concerned," Mycroftsaid, smoothly. "And I wouldn't actually use the word 'bully'. He's just very... persuasive."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it. He can be an absolute-"

"Absolute what, Sherlock?" The doctor asked from the door, holding a bag full of beer. 

"Erm… nothing John."

The doctor set the beer on the table with a loud thump. "Why don't I believe you?"

"It could be that guilty expression he's wearing," Greg said, pointing at Sherlock with a fork. "He only gets it when you're about and he's done something."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "Something good. Something amazing."

Mycroft wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his laugh. 

Sherlock winced when he felt the doctor's hand in his curls, tugging sharply. 

"What's this 'something amazing' then?"

"I…" Sherlock shrugged.

"That's what I thought. Eat, Sherlock," John ordered, giving the detective's curls a sharp tug before releasing them.

"I was!"

"Under duress, no doubt," the doctor said chuckling. He sat next to his boyfriend, then passed Greg a beer, also taking one for himself.

"I better go and see Jim." Before Sherlock could stand up, John had grabbed another beer and pressed it against Sherlock's cock through his trousers.

"Shit! That's cold!" He fell back into his chair. 

John laughed and popped the ring on the can, "drink this, eat that, and shut up."

"You're insufferable," Sherlock complained, but he followed the doctor's orders. After just half the beer, he began to relax, his light frame making the beer hit him harder than it should have. He leaned over against John and dropped his head to his boyfriend's shoulder. "Jim can wait. I'm comfy right here."

"Stop being a brat." He pushed him upright. "Eat. Before I decide you aren't capable and force feed you."

"That beer has gone straight to his head," Greg laughed. "What a lightweight. It's like 4%."

"It wouldn't have if the git would eat more," John said, pushing Sherlock back upright for the second time and laughing when he swayed back towards him again.

He snatched the can off him and sipped it. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"My brother never did do alcohol very well. Get him some water."

John left the table and Sherlock wobbled.

Greg had started laughing so hard that he was crying. "I can't wait to tell them about this at the Yard. I may have to make a special trip into the office just for that."

Sherlock poked his tongue out making Greg laugh more. 

John returned with a pint of water. "Drink all of that or you aren't playing with your toy today."

"Jim's not a toy, he's a tool," Sherlock said petulantly.

"Not yet he's not, baby brother," Mycroft cautioned.

Sherlock sighed as he down half the glass of water. 

"What exactly is he going to be useful for?" Greg asked. "Once you can trust him explicitly, I mean."

"He still has his great mind," Sherlock reminded him. "I plan to put it to use once he can be trusted. Just think of the help he'll be in unraveling puzzles. His whole brain is a puzzle, after all."

"But you enjoy the puzzles," John countered. "And the showing off and everything else that goes with it."

"We're flooded with cases these days thanks to your blog. We'd get through them twice as quickly with two of me."

"There could never be two of you," John countered, then he snogged him.

Mycroft stood and walked over to the laptop to observe the feed from C. "He's falling apart quite nicely."

"Now who's getting out of eating," Sherlock complained. 

"He's right," John agreed. 

"Holmes get your arse back here an sit down," Greg ordered.

Sherlock just laughed at the look on his brother's face. "The British Government just got told what to do."

"I never thought of that," Greg mused aloud, then he laughed.

John looked at him, bemused. "You never thought of what?"

"I'm the one who actually runs the British Government! I get to tell Mycroft what to do and he does it." The DI laughed at his own whimsy.

Mycroft turned a glare on the DI. "Only a week ago you were telling me you didn't want to run the British Government. It would be too much for you or some such nonsense?"

"I'm more than happy to rule from behind the scene. I'll be the power behind the man. Don't worry, Myc, I will be a kind ruler to my people."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm not?"

"Not at all, Mr. Second in Command, merely stating how amazing I will be."

"What's got into you today?" 

Greg shrugged. "Dunno. But it's great."

John opened a notebook that was laying nearby and started scribbling in it.

"What are you doing?" the DI asked.

"I'm working on Jim's routine. I figure we'll want to get him on it soon."

Sherlock grabbed the notebook and tossed it over his shoulder. "If I have to eat, so do you."

Sherlock just grabbed a handful of pasta and shoved it into John's mouth. 

"Alright," John coughed around the inhaled pasta and struggled to swallow. "I'll eat too."

As the food disappeared, John found himself relaxing. It felt more like a normal day than it had in ages. He thought it might not be as disruptive having Moriarty around as he had at first feared.


	10. Training

"Sherlock," Mycroft said, "we'd best go back downstairs."

"Can't you go?" the detective said in a plaintive tone.

"It needs to be you to untie him, Sherlock. You know this."

"I know, Mycroft, but it's tedious." Sherlock got to his feet, sighing as if much put upon. "Let's get this over with."

"It was your idea, Sherlock," John reminded him. "You made the commitment."

"I know." He huffed and threw his head back in annoyance. "This is no fair!" 

"Child!" Mycroft yelled back into the flat as he began down the stairs.

At the first sight of Jim, both brothers smiled in satisfaction. He was a quivering mass of writhing flesh, his body covered with sweat.

"Hello, boy," Sherlock called out. "I've come to see how you're doing. Having fun?"

Jim tried to open his eyes, but struggled. 3 days on the cross and then 6 hours being fucked by a relentless machine had taken their toll. 

Sherlock removed the gag. "Well?"

"Yes, Master," his voice was soft, barely above a whimper.

"Good." Sherlock flicked the fucking machine off. "But all things must come to an end, unless you want to upset Mycroft again."

"No, sir." Jim would do anything to avoid angering the government official.

"Right, well, on any other day you'll sleep in the cage when you've been naughty, but we haven't got around to setting that up… seeing as you've been ruining our day. You'll be on the floor in my bedroom. Mycroft, give me a hand?" He had moved to untie his feet.

Jim wept at the thought of sleep. "Thank you, Master." He slumped forward and Sherlock caught him. "Thank you."

The detective lifted Jim off of the dildo, then dropped him to the floor. "I'll not be carrying you. You have to crawl up the stairs."

Jim didn't think he could manage the stairs, but he knew he'd have to. 

Sherlock kicked the bucket that was full of what he had released. "Count yourself lucky I'm not making you lick that out."

Jim nodded as hard as he could manage and followed as the detective tugged him to the stairs. 

What they didn't expect was the door to 221 open and Mrs. Hudson to come in just as they were on the third step on the way up to B.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson brought her hand up to her chest. "You startled me, boys." She cast her eyes on Jim. "I must say, I much prefer that... thing like this than having him out there doing who knows what."

Sherlock smirked. Jim's state hadn't bothered their landlady in the least. Not even the fact that he was nude seemed to bother her.

"Can I do something?" she asked.

Sherlock frowned, but inclined his head. Mrs. Hudson was hardly going to destroy any progress they may or may not have made. 

She walked up to Jim and slapped him with her handbag. 

Both Holmeses sniggered, failing to contain themselves. 

"Boy, Mrs. Hudson requires an apology," Sherlock barked at him.

Moriarty crawled over to their landlady who looked at him as though he were an insect. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, for everything." 

"Sure you are." She batted him again with her bag. "After what you put my boys through, you can't apologise enough."

"I'm trying-" 

She whacked him again. "If you have any problems, Sherlock, you'll bring him to me. Understood?" 

Sherlock wanted to laugh, but stopped himself. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

Jim genuinely looked slightly cowed at that.

"Well, get moving," the detective said, kicking Jim in the arse.

That got Moriarty moving again, He crawled up the stairs, despite how shattered he was, reminding himself that he might get to sleep once he'd done it. If, that was, he didn't upset Mycroft.

Sherlock smiled at his landlady before turning on his toe and heading up the stairs after his pet. 

In the corner of Sherlock and John's bedroom was a metal bolt attached to the wall. 

"The more you behave, the more comfort you earn in the corner. For now…" he cuffed his ankles and feet and attached them to the bolt.

Jim didn't care. It didn't matter how uncomfortable he was, he was being given a chance to rest. He had all but given up hope. "Yes, Master," he acknowledged, just to be safe. He didn't want to jeopardise his position.

Sherlock tapped at the collar that was also chained to the bolt. "You've got the space of 7 feet. Any more and that will go off."

"Yes, master," Jim said with a shudder. He hated the collar already. He hated Mycroft... no, he couldn't allow himself to think that way.

"Mycroft is following me around with you because of what you did to Greg. There will always be two of us now. So this is your own fault." 

Jim whimpered. 

Sherlock pointed to the small water bottle attached to the wall. Similar to what one would put in a rabbit hutch. "You can't drown yourself on that."

It didn't matter to Moriarty. He knew his life wasn't his own anymore, it belonged to his master. "Yes, Master. Thank you for the water, Master." All he wanted now was sleep.

Sherlock sat on his bed and in a matter of seconds Mycroft was next to him. Both watching the no longer consulting criminal try and sleep, but shivering intermediately.

The detective considered giving Jim a blanket, but at a shake of his brother's head decided against it. He decided to leave Moriarty to it. It was boring watching someone sleep, that is unless it was John.

A few hours later when Greg and Mycroft had headed upstairs, Sherlock took his own boyfriend by the hand and tugged him towards the bedroom. 

"Are you sure it's suitable your toy sleeps in here?"

"He's less likely to step out of line in here, aren't you, boy?!" Sherlock barked. 

Jim jerked awake where he lay, his eyes wide and terrified.

"Well he's not going to be getting any free shows. You can just lock your toy downstairs when we shag." John gave the consulting criminal a glare. "He always fancied you. I hated the way he used to say your name. I hated the way he looked at you even more."

"Boy, I asked you a question," Sherlock paced towards him, voice low. "What are you supposed to do when I ask you a question?"

"Answer, M-Master," his voice wavered. 

"Well?"

"I don't kn-know what you asked." Jim looked from Sherlock to John, hoping for a clue as to what the question was. "I'm sorry, Master."

"I said," the detective went and stood over Jim, "that you were less likely to act up if you stayed in here. Am I right?"

"Yes, Master. I'll be good for you."

"Hmm." 

John folded his arms. 

"What is it?" Sherlock asked when he turned his attention from the consulting criminal. 

"I'm not having him see me naked."

"Did you hear that, boy? When we are in the room, you keep your eyes lowered."

But John shook his head. "Nope. Not good enough. Don't you have a hood you could put on him?"

"You know I do. I'll go get it."

After Sherlock had left the room, the doctor moved closer to Jim. "Don't even think about Sherlock in any way except as your master. If I even suspect that you're thinking of him in a sexual way, I'll encourage him to have that cut off." He toed Jim's caged cock in warning.

"Yes, sir."

"Get on your knees."

Jim forced himself upright, despite the way he was restrained. He was far less exhausted than he had been hours ago when Sherlock had first brought him up here.

"Catch!" Sherlock said as he came back into the bedroom and tossed the hood to John.

The doctor managed to catch the hood in one hand. "Ta." He directed his next words to Moriarty, "You'll wear this whenever one of us comes in to sleep, so get used to it."

"Answer John, boy!"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, Master."

John forced the hood over Moriarty's head, tightening the strings behind him, he tied it to the collar. 

"There's no gag at the moment," Sherlock pointed out. "But if you refuse to use your words like I've ordered you, I will gag you."

Jim's response was muffled. "Yes, Master." Darkness had never bothered Moriarty before, but now he found it oppressive. Without being able to see, he had no way of knowing where Mycroft was. The man could enter the room and he would never know it.

"Now go back to sleep."

"Yes, Master," Jim curled back up into a ball as much as his restraints would allow. 

"We'll have to use rope tomorrow," Sherlock pointed out. "Or if he keeps fidgeting I'll cut his hands and feet off, it is his brain I want."

"Fine, but worry with that tomorrow. Come to bed." John took Sherlock's hand and guided him to bed. They lay down together and sleep shortly took them both.

* * *

The next morning, John woke to an empty bed. He sat up and looked around. Jim was missing as well.

The bed was still warm so Sherlock hadn't been gone long. He got up and grabbed his dressing gown. 

Sherlock was sat in his armchair, talking with Greg over some crime scene photos, as John wandered through to the kitchen, Mycroft was there, arms folded, watching as Jim prepared breakfast.

The doctor shrugged. So long as Mycroft kept an eye on the consulting criminal, he didn't mind eating whatever he was cooking. He craned his neck to see what Sherlock and Greg were looking at. It was a photo from a gruesome murder. "Are you sure he should be here when you two are doing that? It might give him ideas."

Sherlock barked a laugh, "He's not going to see the photo and anyway, one glance at Mycroft and he shits himself. We have nothing to worry about."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, your confidence in a consulting criminal astounds me."

"It's my confidence in Mycroft's ability to terrorise Jim that I'm counting on." He pulled out his magnifying glass and looked closely at the photo. "I should have been at the crime scene."

"Oi! Don't blame me," Greg said. "You're the one that got carried away with his new toy and couldn't be bothered to leave Baker Street."

"When did this happen?"

"About 3 days ago. I was late back."

"I don't recall."

The DI rolled his eyes. "John, will you teach him to pay attention?"

"Sorry, mate. That's a futile effort." The doctor poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down. "I've been trying for years. He 'observes' details right and left, but completely misses the everyday things."

"Like what?" Sherlock asked.

"Like… what continent do we live on?"

Sherlock shrugged. "England."

"Continent, you moron, not country."

"What does it matter? I can tell you within a 30 second margin of error how long it will take you to get to any point in London. That is useful. The rest is just clutter in your tiny little minds."

"Sherlock, you're talking bollocks."

The detective glanced over his shoulder and saw his brother coming in, dragging Jim along by a leash, with a tray. "Any general knowledge question they could come up with I would know it."

Greg put the file away as Jim set the tray down on the coffee table. "That actually looks edible. I don't believe it."

"Yes, it looks like our boy has hidden talents." Mycroft gave the leash a shake. "Serve everyone their food, boy."

Jim served everyone except Mycroft, it took him a little longer to buck up the courage to turn to the older man.

"Hurry up, boy, I want you knelt at my feet within 15 seconds," Sherlock ordered, sipping at his coffee.

With that command hanging over him, Moriarty rushed to serve the elder Holmes. He managed to do it without dropping or spilling anything, then he dropped to his knees, hard.

"Head down!" Sherlock ordered.

Jim ducked his head immediately, hoping he had pleased his master. 

Sherlock didn't say anything further just went back to his breakfast.

John frowned at his boyfriend. Sherlock was sat, picking at his toast, not really eating. Clearly his mind was still on the case Greg had brought him. "Sherlock, babe, the food doesn't do any good unless it actually gets inside you. Eat."

"Don't want to." He dumped the plate on the table and Jim flinched. "Greg, I need to see the crime scene."

The DI shook his head. "Everything's gone now, Sherlock, it's all been packed up."

"You aren't going anywhere." John stood, too, and pushed him back into his chair, replacing the plate on his lap. "Eat."

Jim couldn't believe these were the men who, for all practical purposes, owned him. They were so... ordinary. Even Sherlock was in an odd way. The detective did sentiment and was so childish. It wasn't fair that Sherlock had defeated him so thoroughly. His head snapped up and he glared at the doctor. This wasn't right, any of this. It was wrong, all wrong.

Both John and Sherlock spotted the consulting criminal at the same time. The doctor was faster on the draw. Just as Moriarty started to spring to his feet, he pressed the button on one of the remotes. Jim dropped to the floor, but the look on his face barely changed. The consulting criminal spit invective at the room in general until he finally succumbed and crumpled in on himself.

"Let it go, John," Sherlock ordered nodding at the button.

The doctor slipped it back into the pocket of his dressing gown and folded his arms. 

"Care to try that again, boy?" Sherlock demanded.

Jim clenched his teeth, hating his situation. Just as Sherlock was about to say something more, Moriarty ground out, "No, Master." Just saying those words made him feel defeated all over again.

"Then what was all that about?" Sherlock kept his voice level, but he didn't know why.

Jim didn't reply, so Mycroft stood up, but when the kneeling man saw Mycroft's feet he immediately whispered, "I don't know, master."

"You're lying," the government official observed. "That was a spark of defiance that you just showed. I do believe it needs to be extinguished."

All thought of being contradictive any more flew from Jim's mind. "No, sir, no. I didn't mean it, sir. Honest, I don't know why I did it." He pressed his head to Sherlock's feet. "I'm sorry, Master, I'm really sorry, please don't let him take me away, Master."

John crossed his arms. "It's easy for him to be sorry when he's been caught and fears the consequences. I for one still don't trust him. I think you should let Mycroft do his worst."

Moriarty's trembling was clear,. He was absolutely petrified. 

Mycroft bent down and dragged him to his feet by his hair. "Your choice, Sherlock. Leave your dog to me. Or do you want to keep it?"

"I'll keep it, but you can borrow it if you like." Sherlock shrugged. "Just have him back in two hours."

Jim sobbed. He didn't want to be left to Mycroft for two hours. That would seem like an eternity.

"Will you be alright alone with him?" Sherlock asked, concerned because of what had happened to Greg. "I need Greg for that case. It looks marvellous."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock, haven't you worked out the murderer yet?" Mycroft asked sarcastically.

"No, and neither have you. Now, the question remains, will you be safe?" Sherlock had started to pull on his coat.

"I'll be safe enough," Mycroft replied. "I have the remote to his collar, after all."

"John?" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder as he took off down the stairs. 

John rolled his eyes, "Coming!" He glanced at the DI. 

"Come on then, his nibs is probably already in a cab. Stay safe," Greg ordered, pecking Mycroft on the lips.

The government official stopped Greg from leaving by grasping his wrist. "Don't let my brother drag you into trouble. I need you to stay safe too."

With a smile, the DI nodded, then he followed after John.

"Right then, boy," Mycroft said to Moriarty. 

Jim was curled up in a ball, shaking violently. He would never stand up against Sherlock again. Never. Master was so much kinder than- he hissed air between his teeth when Mycroft jerked his head back by his hair, "I think it's time we headed back down stairs."

"Yes, sir." Jim started crawling for the door as soon as his hair was released. He didn't want to upset Mycroft any further.

The government official put his hand in his pocket and fingered the remote. If Moriarty even flinched wrong, he would use it.

"Faster!" Mycroft ordered, snatching up the leash. 

"Sorry, sir." Jim crawled as quickly as he could, even as he reached the stairs. Since he couldn't stand, he had to back down them. He moved as fast as he could, scraping his knee on one of the steps.

Fed up with how long it was taking, Mycroft bent down and scooped him up. He carried him down to C and dropped him on the floor. "Get on your knees."

Jim scrambled to comply, though he was completely shaken. "Sir, please. I'll never defy Sherlock again, I promise you."

Mycroft pulled the remote to his collar out of his pocket and began throwing it up and down. "I can't trust you, boy. You've proven that to me and you've proven that to Sherlock."

Jim hung his head, knowing his position was hopeless. "I didn't mean... Yes, sir. Do whatever you wish."

"Oh, I can't do that, Sherlock would never approve, but I'll do what I must. Go position yourself over that bench and wait."

Still shaky, Jim crawled across the room and threw himself across the bench, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

The waiting was sheer torture. He would have preferred almost anything to the dread and anticipation that was building inside him. He was sorely tempted to look around and see what Mycroft was doing, but he daren't.

Mycroft was watching the back of Jim's head. Waiting for him to move. He was actually surprised when he didn't. "Boy, fetch me the cane."

Slowly, Moriarty crawled across the room to fetch it. He bowed his head in front of Mycroft as he handed it to him. 

"I'm going to try something with you, boy. A little test. You are going to follow my word as law and I'm going to teach you some positions, mess up and I'll punish you with this." He took the cane from the younger man. "Mess up too drastically and you won't be going back to Sherlock. Behave perfectly and you can see him when he gets back."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"Show me your basic position to start with, kneeling with your hands behind your head."

Jim knelt, head bowed, and his fingers laced together behind his head.

Mycroft whacked his arms with the cane, "Get them straighter," he whacked his knees, "and spread them more, that pretty little cage is for my amusement not your privacy."

"Yes, sir."

"That is position one," Mycroft announced after he'd finished prodding him with the cane. "Now, drop to all fours." Once Jim had done so, he pressed the cane between his shoulder blades. "Drop your forehead to the floor, then put your hands back behind your head."

Jim didn't like the sound of that position but he dutifully lowered his head. 

"Hands behind you. Now!" Mycroft swung out, catching the slave on the arse. "Tuck your feet in."

Jim did so, hating the feel of the cane striking him.

"Position two."  Mycroft walked around Moriarty, stopping by his lowered head. "This position is convenient for punishment, as you've already seen."

"Stand up."

Jim scrambled to his feet. 

"Hands behind your back."

He obeyed and Mycroft cuffed them there quickly. 

"Position 3 is the same as 1, just with your hands there."

Jim nodded.

"Get to it then!"

He fell to his knees with a thud.

Mycroft tipped Jim's head back with the tip of the cane. What he saw in those dark brown eyes satisfied him to no end. There was a distinct lack of defiance in them. Good.

"Head to the floor, I think you can assume that's position 4."

"Yes, sir." He lowered himself down until his head was resting on the floor again.

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft growled, "Stay."

Jim whimpered, but didn't move as Mycroft went to the bottom of the stairs. 

"Coowee."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft frowned up at the older woman. 

"Sherlock rang. Asked me to check in with you."

"As you can see, everything is under control. Tell my brother there is no cause for alarm."

"If you get tired of dealing with that, you just come right up to A. I've just taken some scones from the oven." Mrs. Hudson scowled at Jim. "But leave that here."

Mycroft realised just why his brother was so… polite around his landlady. 

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"Good." She bustled back up the stairs and disappeared. 

Mycroft was glad to see that Jim hadn't moved, despite the strain on his thighs.

Pulling up a chair, Mycroft sat in it. He poked and prodded at Jim with the cane, watching how he responded. "Back to position 3!" he barked.

Jim struggled, trying to comply, but it was almost impossible with his wrists cuffed behind him.

"Now!" Mycroft's tone was sharp and Jim forced himself upright. 

"You aren't to take that long again, boy, do you hear me? You follow every order no matter how much discomfort you feel."

"Yes, sir."

"In fact-" Mycroft stood and went to fetch a pair of nipple clamps and some weights. He pinched the clamps over the consulting criminal's nipples, then added the weights to the chain that dangled from them. "Position 4."

Jim leant down, slowly.

"Now position 3."

He struggled, but he managed to straightened back up again. 

Mycroft hooked his cane under the chain and tugged.

Moriarty shuffled forward on his knees without thinking, trying to lessen the burning and ache of his nipples.

"I didn't say you could move!" Mycroft snapped.

Jim froze immediately. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Shut it! Get back where you were."

Tears in his eyes, Jim managed to move back, the chains pulling taut.

Mycroft gave the cane a twist, causing the chain to wrap around the end of it.

Jim leaned forward so far that he fell over. One of the clamps slipped off, causing him to gasp in pain.

Mycroft watched him for a moment. Then he reached down, removed the cuffs and replaced the clamp. 

"Get into the press up position. Right now!"

The government official rested his feet on Jim's back, crossing them at the ankles. "Well, get to it. Perform press ups until I tell you to stop."

Moriarty was struggling to see the point to any of this. It was just Mycroft bossing him around. He should have known that was the exact point of it, obeying Mycroft, or getting hurt.

It was obvious that Jim was reaching his limit, his arms shook with every press up. Mycroft allowed him to continue for just a bit longer, than he used his foot to tip him over. Jim tried curling up but Mycroft barked out, "No!"

He groaned in pain, just wanting Sherlock to come back, that was all he wanted. Sherlock would save him. 

"Position 2!"

Jim pushed up to his knees and put his hands behind his head. How much of the two hours remained? He used to have an excellent sense of time, but Mycroft had scrambled it days ago.

Mycroft watched him closely for a moment. "I know what you're thinking, boy. When has my brother ever danced to time? He ignores it. It… 'bores' him."

"Please... I want my master," Jim wailed. He couldn't stop himself. He wanted Sherlock more than anything.

Mycroft froze. "What was that?"

"Please, sir, please."

Mycroft blinked down at him dumbly for a moment, glad Jim was looking down and not up. "Why?"


	11. Devoted

"M-master is good. He's kind." Jim looked down at the floor. "I want to show my master how good I can be for him."

Mycroft thought for a moment, this was too good an opportunity to miss, Sherlock needed to be here. Besides, that case was obvious. "Stand up."

Jim got up immediately. 

"Stand by the cross, cuff your feet and one hand."

Hands shaking, Jim did so. He fumbled for a moment with the buckle at his wrist. "Sir, I'm trying. Please don't tell Master." When he got it fastened, he let out a sigh of relief.

Mycroft folded his arms and then slowly paced towards him. He whipped the cane out so it tapped Jim's cock, then he reached up and buckled up the other cuff, before stepping from the room to call Sherlock. "Brother-mine," Mycroft said as soon as Sherlock answered his phone, "tell me you've solved your little case. It's time for you to come home. Things have taken an... interesting turn here."

"What do you mean solved it?"

Mycroft put on a sigh and rolled his eyes, his little brother was slow today. 

"It was Dr Manilow, little brother. Now come home."

"Mycroft!"

"Are you on your way or not?"

"Fine," Sherlock said with a huff. "You're no fun, you do realise that?"

"Oh, but I think what is happening here will amuse you."

Sherlock huffed angrily and hung up. 

It was half an hour later that Mycroft heard the door open. There were 3 sets of footsteps on the stairs. 

"What was so important, brother dear?" Sherlock grumbled when he reached the bottom.

"Someone wants to see you. He's asked for you." Mycroft opened the door and ushered the three men through.

"Master!" Jim's face actually lit up at the sight of Sherlock.

"What do you want, boy?" Sherlock asked.

The criminal mastermind's eyes widened. 

"Why would I want to keep you after this morning?" The detective continued. 

Jim paled. "Master, please." He strained forward. "Let me fix it. Please, Master, please."

Sherlock laughed then glanced at John. "What do you think, babe?" He made a point of not calling him John. Jim needed to realise what his priorities were.

The doctor slid his arm around Sherlock's waist. "I think he's rather pathetic."

"Of course he is," the detective agreed, "but I think he's starting to understand that." He turned back to his slave. "Aren't you, boy?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, Master."

Sherlock paced towards the strung up man and stared at him until Jim ducked his head.

"Mycroft, get my dog down and meet us upstairs."

"I don't do what you tell me to do, little brother."

"No. But I did you the courtesy of coming when you called, quite literally." With that he took John's hand and tugged him to the stairs.

Tears of relief welled up in Jim's eyes. "Thank you, Master. Thank you." He couldn't be freed fast enough. He needed to be with his master. That was all that mattered.

Mycroft and Greg let him down. Jim dropped to the floor and charged off towards the stairs as quick as he could on his knees. 

"Oi!" Mycroft barked as Greg pushed the button on the collar remote.

"Please," Jim clawed a few inches further towards the door. "I need my master. I need hi-" The pain became too much and he fell forward. "Please-"

Mycroft nodded once and Greg released the button. 

Moriarty grunted as the government official scowled down at him, toeing at his cock between his legs. 

"Why do you need Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. "Am I not good enough for you?"

Moriarty actually began to sob. He daren't say yes, but no one else could replace Sherlock. The detective was the only person who showed him any kindness. "I belong to him. I should be with him. I... Please."

"That wasn't an answer to my question, boy."

"No, sir. Because I belong to Sherlock."

Mycroft bent down and gripped Jim by the throat, "Never call him by his name! He is nothing but Master to you - of you. Is that clear?"

Jim swallowed, glancing at the DI. "Yes, sir."

After he was certain his point had been made, Mycroft released him and stepped back. "You may now crawl upstairs, but go slowly, very slowly."

"Yes, sir," he repeated. 

When they reached the sitting room in B, Sherlock was making a point to lounge over John like he was another sofa. "Hello, boy," he called out.

"Master." Jim crawled over and took position 1 by his chair. It wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to curl up at Sherlock's feet.

"It seems my brother has been teaching you some tricks, boy."

"Yes, Master."

Mycroft came into the room and settled into Sherlock's armchair. "Only the first 4 on the list."

"Only the first four? I'm surprised you stopped at that."

"It was so pathetic. It kept calling for you. It touched my almost non-existent heart."

Sherlock laughed. "Is that right, boy? Did you miss your master?"

"Yes, Master," Jim nodded. 

"How sweet is that?" Sherlock asked John sarcastically. "My dog missed me. What about John, boy? Did you miss him?"

Jim swallowed hard. "Not like I missed you, Master." Holding his breath, he hoped his answer was acceptable.

The detective grasped Jim by the hair. "Listen well. If you want to please me, please John. He's the one that matters."

Jim's gaze flickered up to the doctor, he didn't like the dark look on his face. 

"Yes, Master."

"Good." He pushed his head back down. "Position 2."

Jim immediately pressed his forehead to the floor and laced his fingers together behind his head. If his master wanted him to, he'd stay like that forever.

Sherlock spun around on his chair to rest his feet on Jim's back. 

"Has he eaten?" Sherlock asked his brother. 

The government official shook his head.

"You don't bother to eat, but you worry if he has," John commented. "Well, he doesn't eat until you do. I won't have it any other way."

Sherlock sighed. "I ate this morning. Before we went out." Then his head snapped up. "How did you know it was the doctor?"

Mycroft smirked and let an eyebrow raise, "you are far too slow, little brother."

Jim shook his head. Mycroft might terrify him, but he couldn't be allowed to say such things. "Master is a genius. He always figures things out. He unravelled my riddles. You couldn't do it."

"Hey!" Sherlock barked.

Jim flinched back, realising he had miscalculated. "Master, I don't-"

"Shut up! Get in the corner, position 1."

"Master-"

"Now! I don't care if you think you're… defending me or whatever, but you will never speak to Mycroft like that again, am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Master." Jim crawled to the corner, stung by the rebuke. He knelt, facing away from the centre of the room, tears welling up in his eyes.

John frowned glancing between Mycroft and Moriarty. "Bit harsh?" He whispered softly. 

Sherlock shook his head, his gaze on Mycroft, "My brother can't be doing his job right if he is still doing that."

Mycroft nodded. "He's correct, John. Such an outburst can't be permitted, not even in defence of my brother."

They watched as Jim began to tremble in the corner. 

Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and sent off a quick text. 

Sherlock huffed as his phone buzzed.

Wait until he's sobbing.

He frowned as he looked up, but nodded. He'd call him out of the corner when he was crying like a baby.

It didn't take long. Jim's shoulders shook and the sound of his sobbing was clear to hear. His nose was streaming with snot and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he wanted to do about it, he wanted - no needed - Sherlock to see he was sorry. He just kept his hands behind his head, trying his utmost hardest to keep his position. He didn't need something else to go wrong. 

Sherlock snatched up the notepad they'd been using to make notes about Jim. 

John had started to plan a routine, but he wasn't interested in that. He was interested in the rest of the positions.

Mycroft smiled thinly at the sight Jim made. It was time for his brother to take action. He fired off a text to Sherlock.

The detective ignored the text for a moment until Mycroft grumbled under his breath. 

He chuckled dryly as he slid his finger across the screen. Reading, he immediately rolled his eyes. 

"Boy!" He barked. "Here. Now!"

Not having been ordered to position, Jim fell in a ball at Sherlock's feet. He bathed them in his tears and held onto his legs for dear life.

"Pathetic thing," Sherlock growled knocking him away with his foot. 

"Master-"

"Quiet, boy. Mycroft, why don't you teach him position 5? Right here in front of us."

"On your feet, boy," the government official ordered as he, himself, stood.

Jim hesitated, but a single glance at his master had him scrambling to his feet. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he placed them behind his head.

Mycroft smirked. "Spread your legs," he ordered. 

Almost scared, Jim did just that. 

"More than that!" 

John laughed as Moriarty began to lose his balance.

"Hold it, boy. This is position 5, but position 6 is even more difficult. In fact, I think it's time you learn that one too. Hold your arms out to the sides at shoulder level." Mycroft placed Jim's arms where he wanted them. "This position should do nicely for a bit."

Jim kept glancing at Sherlock, hoping he would intervene. All he saw there was disappointment and it made him whimper.

It wasn't until Moriarty's arms and legs started to shake, that Sherlock barked out, "Position 3." He smiled as Jim's knees hit the floor and placed his wrists together behind his back." Sherlock watched for a moment, not at all surprised that he had got immediate compliance. "Kiss my brother's feet and apologise for the way you spoke to him."

Jim crawled over to where Mycroft was now sat. He bent and kissed his feet, then he told him, "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you, sir." It was difficult, but he surpassed the desire to say more, to say he had only been defending his master.

When Jim tried to straighten, Sherlock barked out, "I didn't say you could move, boy!"

Jim flinched, "Sorry, master."

Mycroft removed his feet from Jim's grasp and placed them on his back. "He does make a good footrest."

"It looks like it's the only thing he is good for, Sherlock noted.

Mycroft laughed and pressed his feet down harder. Jim didn't resist, just let himself be pressed further into the floor. He closed his eyes and pretended it was his master resting his feet on him.

Sherlock hummed and rested his head on John's shoulder. "How long until I can use his brain, Mycroft?"

"You should be able to now, if you restrict it to small things." Mycroft looked down at Jim. "In fact, it might endear him to you even more. I'm sure he's bored by now."

"Is that right, boy? Are you bored?" Sherlock eyed his slave carefully. "Bored of Mycroft? Bored of John? Bored of me?"

Jim flinched. "No, Master, I'm not bored of you. I could never be bored of you."

"I noticed you left out Mycroft and John. I could always give them a chance to relieve your boredom. I'm sure they can regain your interest."

"No! No, Master. I'm sorry, Master. They aren't boring either."

"You don't sound very sure." 

"I am, Master, honest."

"Position 1," Sherlock barked. He couldn't wait to use Jim's mind. All he needed was a case. "Do you want to make yourself useful, boy?"

Jim's arms wavered, aching. "Yes, Master."

"Good boy. Go and get us all a cup of tea. Do it without throwing it all over the floor and you can eat."

Moriarty crawled into the kitchen. It had been rearranged so he could reach everything easily. He concentrated on his task and tried to ignore the conversation that was going on in the living room.

"Master," he whispered 10 minutes later when he appeared at the door carrying the tray. 

"Put it on the table, boy, and give Mycroft his first."

Jim didn't make the same mistake this time. He took Mycroft his tea with alacrity. It was still very unnerving and he was glad when he could crawl away and serve tea to the others.

Greg came in out of nowhere. "Sherlock, you wanted a boring case, right?"

The derective. inclined his head. 

"Burglary any good?"

"What was taken?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow. "Do you have photographs?"

"Sally is sending them to me. I'll forward them to you."

Sherlock nodded and took his tea from his slave. "Give the Inspector his coffee, boy, and then go and get yourself some cereal."

Moriarty clasped the cup of coffee in both hands and took it to the DI. He stared at the floor as it was taken from his hands. He didn't want to see the bruises that still adorned Greg's throat. They reminded him too much of how he had failed his master, and he supposed he felt slightly guilty for doing it in the first place, not an emotion he was accustomed to.

It made him jerk in surprise when Greg gripped his own neck with his hand. Jim's eyes moved upwards, slowly.

"It wouldn't take much to bruise that throat of yours." The DI worked his fingers, tightening his grip, then releasing it. "But that's not my way." Greg let his hand drop. "I'm better than you."

"Yes, sir," Jim agreed much to Greg's surprise, then he crawled off into the kitchen. 

"And don't even think of getting the good stuff!" John yelled out.

In the kitchen, Jim paused, his shoulders drooping. He was hungry, yes, his body was making its demands, but he didn't want to eat. Still, his master had demanded it. With reluctance, he got himself a bowl of cereal and set to eating it, sat as he was on the floor. He wasn't sure what to do when he was done, he just sat and stared at the empty bowl. 

Eventually, Sherlock got bored of waiting for the consulting criminal to show his face again and moved to the kitchen door. "Honestly, don't be so disappointing,  boy." Sherlock went and tipped Jim's head back. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out you should have cleaned up after yourself."

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master." He was surprised the detective hadn't grabbed him roughly and that it was only a gentle tip of his head. 

"Hurry up, boy, you've got work to do."

"Yes, Master." 

Sherlock watched Jim clean the dishes. He was excited to get to put Moriarty's mind to use, even if the case was a simple one. At least it would be a beginning. Sherlock snapped his leash on and Jim sighed happily. It made the detective frown. "You like being leashed, boy?"

"Yes, Master."

That surprised Sherlock to no end. "Why?"

"Because it reminds me I'm yours," Jim said, ducking his head.

Giving the leash a tug, the detective led Moriarty back to the living room.

Jim was acting as if this was all consensual, all it did was confuse the younger man. He pushed the leash into John's hand. "Mycroft, can I have a word?"

The government official glanced up at his brother. "Of course, little brother."

"What's he doing? Is this some ploy on his part?" Sherlock asked, frowning. "The way he's acting..."

"It's what we've been working for," Mycroft said seriously. "If his obsession for you has been turned about so that he's happy to belong to you, all the better."

"This can't be right. He likes me putting him on a leash like a dog. He's not meant to like that, Mycroft!" Sherlock paced the hallway frantically. 

"Moriarty's connection to you has always been more than… well," he cleared his throat. "More than entertainment. Maybe that's what this is about."

Sherlock stopped and leant back against the wall. "I can't let him think I love him!"

"But you can't demand he hate you. He has to love you, he has to take your word as law, brother-mine."

"I don't want his love. John's the only person that means anything to me."

"Of course he is. I never said you had to love him back," Mycroft said in a placating tone. "You've made your feelings for John quite clear to Moriarty. He'll be happy with any scraps of attention you deign to offer him."

Sherlock ran his hand over his face. "This situation is impossible."

"What did you think would happen, little brother? Did you think it would be torture, rebuild, done in 3 days flat?"

"No, of course I didn't!" He snapped back in return. The detective brought his hands up and grasped his curls, tugging them as he paced. "I can't do this. It's too much."

Mycroft shrugged. "It's not too late for me to... dispose of him."

"No! No." The detective stopped pacing. "He's too valuable and intriguing for that." Sherlock made a face. "I'll figure this out." He was gripping his hair so tightly it was becoming painful. 

Mycroft stepped forward and yanked his hands free. "Stop it!" He hissed. "Pull yourself together, little brother, or I will take him away."

"No! He's mine. I just… I need help. More help. I don't know what to do now."

John appeared, a look of concern on his face. "Babe, what's wrong?" He stepped up and pulled Sherlock's fingers from his hair, where he'd immediately began tugging again. He held his fingers softly. 

"I love you, John. I only love you. I'll never love anyone else, certainly not Jim."

"Right. I know that." 

"Do you?"

The doctor nodded once, but then glanced between the two Holmeses. "What's going on?"

"Sherlock doesn't know what to do next."

"Really?" John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist. "Next, you go work on the case. Use him, see how he does. That's what all this is about, after all, saving and using his brain."

"And if it's no good?"

"You can keep him as a pet if you want."

"Isn't that… wrong?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "He's Jim Moriarty, or rather was, I think being kept as a pet is the only alternative to me getting rid of him. He can't go back to before. He's too broken for that. And even if he could, I wouldn't let him."

"So, he's my responsibility." Sherlock sighed. "I took him in, I insisted on this."

"Yes, babe, but you don't have to do it by yourself," John soothed. "I'm here. I agreed to this. I'll help you."

"We all will," Mycroft agreed.

"I think I've taken up enough of your time. Yours and Greg's."

Greg appeared at the door. "You can keep me as long as you like, just as long as you continue to get my name right."

"I have nothing pressing, Sherlock," Mycroft added. 

"Clearly. You've been spending far too much time with me."

"It's been... a pleasure," Mycroft admitted. "I know you've merely tolerated my presence because of my usefulness, but I've found it rather enjoyable." Mycroft shrugged uncomfortably and looked passed Sherlock, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"You've found torturing him enjoyable."

"I found torturing him with you enjoyable," he countered. 

"Me too," Sherlock whispered. 

John stepped back beside Greg and smiled. 

After a few seconds, Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. "Where's my dog?"

Greg laughed drily. "Come and see."

In the living room, Jim was knelt obediently in position 1, his leash tied to the coffee table so he had to strain himself to hold position. He looked completely forlorn, knelt there, waiting for their return - for his master's return.

"Who's a good boy then?!" John asked patting his legs like Jim was an actual dog.

He caught Sherlock's eye and sniggered. "Sorry, babe. Couldn't resist."

Jim didn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he had leaned back into John's touch.

"Interesting," Sherlock murmured to himself. "Did you forward the crime scene photos?" he asked as he reached for his laptop.

"Yep. Not much to go on, though."

Sherlock glanced up and smirked smugly. 

"Alright, you sod," Greg said, throwing him a look.

Sherlock glanced over the 11 photos on his laptop. Greg was right, there wasn't much to go on, but there was enough for him to know what the burglar was after and who it was. 

"Boy, I'm going to show you these photos in a minute. If you can work out who it was and what they took without the house owners knowing, you can have a blanket tonight if I let you sleep."

Jim's head came up and an eager glow lit his eyes. He wanted to show his master that he was good for something. "Yes, Master. I'll make you proud."

John untied him from the table. 

"Don't know about that…" Sherlock turned the computer around. "You do not touch it. If you want to zoom in or change picture you ask me. Now get beside me, position 3."

Moriarty moved eagerly to where Sherlock had indicated. He watched as the detective clicked from one photo to the next. Once he had seen them all, he asked,  "May I see the fifth one again, Master?"

Sherlock inclined his head and flicked the photos back. All the while he was watching his brother over the consulting criminal's head. Mycroft just nodded before turning his attention back to the DI.

"The woman who lives here has been having an affair." Moriarty narrowed his eyes. "She took something from her lover, something important. He was looking for it..." He trailed off, thinking. "May I see the third photo again, Master?"

Sherlock flicked back to it, not sure why he wanted to see that image. 

He scowled at it for a moment. "And picture 1 again, Master?"

Sherlock smirked this time, he might just get there. 

"A memory stick, Master. The first picture is the room on social media, the others are crime scene photos after, it's clear there's a memory stick missing from that computer on the side, probably contains some sort of video - likely to be sexual."

Sherlock tousled Jim's hair. "Good boy. Really very good. You got everything right."

Moriarty ducked his head and blushed. He could barely stay still, so affecting was his master's praise. He wanted to fall at his feet and worship him.

"Done?" Greg called over.  

Sherlock glanced at his pet. "Tell the inspector, boy."

"Yes, Master."

"Who am I to arrest then?" The DI asked

"Both the woman and her lover. The woman made the videos without the lover's permission. The lover is guilty of breaking and entering." Jim bit his lip and risked a glance at his master, hoping he had got that right.

"Sir," Sherlock snapped. 

Jim flinched. "Yes, Master." He turned to the DI who was glaring. "Sorry, sir."

"Well?" Greg asked. "Did the boy get it right?"

Sherlock inclined his head. "Yes, he did. It was entirely obvious, of course, but he did well. Perhaps the next case we present him with should be a bit more challenging. What do you think of that, boy?"

"Yes, Master." He still couldn't believe that Sherlock had praised him like that. Then he'd screwed up. Thinking it was the right thing to do, Jim bent over and kissed the DI's feet.

"Oi! What was that for?" Greg asked, pulling his feet back.

"Thank you, sir, for letting me help. For giving me the chance to please Master." Jim's voice shook with the force of his gratitude. Even if he had messed up, he had been given the chance to earn praise.

Greg scowled down at the top of Jim's head. Then he glanced at his boyfriend. "You really have broken it, haven't you?"

"The best bit is, we didn't even teach him that."

"It's creepy," the DI declared. "It's like he's still obsessed with him."

"He is," Mycroft said with a shrug. "But in a much safer, more directed manner, not to mention controlled."

Jim was still facing downwards, eventually, Sherlock reached down and pulled him upright. 

"Master?"

"What, boy?"

"I need the toilet, Master."

"You'll have to use the one downstairs," the detective announced. "We haven't prepared the one up here for you." He sighed. "Come along. I don't trust you by yourself, not yet."

"Master-"

"No! I don't think I ever could trust you alone. Mycroft, will you take him?"

The government official inclined his head. "Come on, boy."

The moment Mycroft disappeared with Jim, Sherlock let out a bark of a laugh. "This may work, after all. Did you see him, John? He definitely wanted to impress me and without blowing anything up."

"Who said anything about him not wanting to blow you up?"

"It's kind of a given now."

"Is it, though? Don't get too complacent."

At that, the detective frowned. He knew John was right, but it rankled. "I'll never really trust him, but if I should grow lax in my vigilance, I know you will not."

"That's sweet."

"Bored!" 

"Sherlock, he's been out of the room for 5 minutes."

"I know. We should do something together."

"In fact..." Sherlock turned to Greg. "If you don't mind, I feel I've been neglecting John. I'd like to leave Jim in your and Mycroft's care while I remedy that situation."

Greg shrugged. "Fine with me."

"You haven't been neglecting me at all, babe," John said with a grin. "In fact I've been far less neglected than I expected to be."

"Still." Sherlock shrugged. He stood and pulled John up with him. "We could go straight to the bedroom, or we could go out to eat first. I'll even let you feed me if you want to. I'm all yours for a bit."


	12. What's in a Name?

It was days later. Greg was at the Yard and Mycroft was at the club, leaving both John and Sherlock alone in the flat with their toy. 

Jim knelt, completely naked, in the middle of the sitting room, trembling slightly.

"Do you reckon he had any hobbies as a kid," John asked, "apart from murder, I mean. I just can't picture him as a normal kid, no matter how hard I try."

Sherlock shrugged. "Boy! What did you do as a kid?"

Jim looked up. "Master?"

"Hobbies, boy. It's hardly a difficult question."

"Sorry, master. I played football."

"Huh. Football." John leaned his cheek on his fist and tried to picture it. "Nope. I don't see it. Unless he was the kid that tried to break the other kids' legs."

"Well?" Sherlock barked when there was no answer. "Did you?"

"No, master. I used to play for my school team."

"Because you were no good at swimming…"

Jim's head shot up and for a split second, there was fire in his eyes. It was quickly extinguished and he looked back down at the floor. "Yes, master."

"Was that…" John trailed off. 

Sherlock got to his feet and paced towards his dog. "I just saw resentment, boy. Why was that?"

Jim didn't answer. 

"Right." Sherlock held out his hand. "John, chuck me my phone." Once the detective had hold of it he hit speed dial. "Mycroft? Yes… you aren't busy? That's good… I have a problem."

Jim crawled backwards and back into the corner, pressing his head to the floor and covering it with his arms. He hadn't meant to be bad, but he had remembered Carl Powers. He had hated the boy, hated him, hated him.

Sherlock watched him go with an odd smirk. "What do you think you are doing, boy? No, not you, Myc, he's being… he's reacting again." Sherlock paused to listen to his brother, then he spoke, "We were talking about his childhood and swimming was brought up. There was a flash of something I didn't like in his eyes. Now he's cowering in the corner like he knows he's done something wrong." He nodded as Mycroft spoke. When he hung up, he sat back in his chair. "Mycroft's on his way back."

In the corner, Jim whimpered.

"I suppose these things are to be expected," John said, staring at Jim. "He'll never be fully tame. It's a bit like keeping a lion for a pet. You never know when it might turn on you."

"We're not going to give him the chance to turn on us. Don't forget the collar. And anyway, Mycroft's sure that eventually we'll get rid of all defiance. It'll just take longer squashing out the remaining bits."

Jim backed further into the corner, though that had seemed impossible just a moment ago.

"Well I can say this," John noted, "he certainly knows when he's cocked up. That's a step in the right direction as far as I'm concerned."

Sherlock nodded and got comfortable waiting for Mycroft. 

"Tut tut," the government official shook his head as he entered the room and saw Jim. "I didn't expect to be needed so soon," Mycroft said, then he barked, "Position 2, boy. Here, where I'm pointing."

Jim knew better than to disobey, though he whimpered as he moved.

"You just let him run to the corner?" Mycroft questioned, glancing at his little brother.

"I've had enough of punishing him. From now on I'll call you whenever it's needed. If you're busy, I'll tie him to the cross until you're not."

"What do you think of that, boy?" Mycroft growled, pressing his foot into Moriarty's neck, pushing his face to the floor even more.

"Whatever my master wishes. I shouldn't be an inconvenience to him."

Mycroft snorted. "But you don't mind being an inconvenience to me."

"No, sir," he argued quickly. "That's not what I meant, sir."

"Isn't it?"

"No, sir," he repeated, shifting slightly as his head was pushed into the floor.

Mycroft tapped Jim's arse with his umbrella, then prodded his hole with the ferrule. "I'm going to make sure you don't want to waste my time as well."

"I don't, sir. Honestly, I don't."

"Don't believe you. John, would you mind handcuffing the boy, Sherlock go and fetch a vibrator from downstairs."

For the briefest of moments, Jim resisted being cuffed, then he went limp. He knew he had acted foolishly and his actions had only made things worse for him.

John held him on his knees by his hair while Sherlock was gone. He wasn't gone long. As soon as he was back in the flat, he threw the vibrator and Mycroft caught it easily.

Jim's arse was still stuck in the air on display so Mycroft pulled the desk chair over and sat just behind him. Idly, he thumped the vibrator against the consulting criminal's arse.

Jim didn't move, breathing in deeply. "Sir, please-"

"Shut it!" Mycroft kicked out at his arse. "I won't leave this inside you for the next 6 hours if you explain to me why you continue to show yourself up."

"I don't know," Jim whimpered. "I don't mean to displease Master. I lo- I want to make master happy."

Mycroft started poking at Moriarty's hole with the plug. "Yet you do disappoint him. Repeatedly. Look at him, boy."

Jim glanced up, looking at Sherlock. 

"Does he look disappointed with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you think that's ok?"

Moriarty whimpered. "It's not okay, sir." He closed his hands into fists. "I'm sorry." 

"You need to learn to be sorry before you make a mistake," Mycroft explained, thumping Jim's arse again with the vibrator. Then he slipped out the usual plug and pushed the vibrating one in. "Kneel beside your master. Position 3. If you can go two hours without a sound, Sherlock might forgive you."

Jim crawled over beside Sherlock's chair immediately and knelt. He wanted desperately to sob or at least whimper, but he daren't, not if he wanted to earn his master's forgiveness. He ducked his head and stared at the floor, it wasn't long before he closed his eyes. 

Mycroft paced over to him and toed his cock through the metal rings of the cage. "Look at that, already leaking over the carpet."

At that, Jim whimpered in shame. He was an embarrassment to his master and wanted to hide. Why couldn't he do better?

"Give the boy some credit, Myc, I wouldn't do much better in his shoes."

Jim sighed in relief. 

"But you aren't in his shoes. You aren't a slave. You haven't put yourself in a situation where you needed to be controlled."

"Ha! As if Sherlock could ever be controlled," John said with a crooked grin. "If he could, I wouldn't have to chase after him when he runs off at crime scenes."

"You like that bit!" the detective complained.

John tilted his head on the side. "True."

Mycroft settled himself in the other chair, across the room. "Boy, come here."

Jim crawled to Mycroft, keeping his eyes cast down.

Bored with the whole thing, John picked up his book and began reading. He was faintly amazed that even this could become routine.

Sherlock's phone buzzed, making him grin as he swiped his finger across the screen. "Yes, Gavin, do you have a case for me?"

"You and your toy," the DI agreed.

"You're on your way here, then," Sherlock stated as he walked over to look out the window. "You can give my brother a kiss when you arrive."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled disapprovingly. 

"Why's he there?" Greg asked. 

"My toy was being naughty."

Jim surprised the whole room by retaining his whimper.

Walking over to Moriarty, Sherlock placed his hand on his head. He toyed idly with his hair. "We need to get this cut. My toy is looking shaggy."

"It's a good handle though, don't you think?" Mycroft pushed his brother's hand out the way and pulled the consulting criminal up straighter as if to demonstrate. 

"Hmm. Perhaps. Mycroft, I've been thinking…"

"That isn't good," Mycroft declared.

The detective ignored his brother and his boyfriend as they sniggered like children. "I'm not always going to be able to run cases from here. I'm going to need to leave for crime scenes soon."

"He can't leave this flat, not as Jim Moriarty." Mycroft rubbed his chin, thinking. "I'll have to arrange for a new identity and his collar will need adjustment."

"How do you mean?" John asked.

"It will need a, hm, 'kill switch' that activates if he gets too far away from either you or John."

"Kill switch," John stood up and joined them. 

"Not to actually kill him," Mycroft explained. "He might fall over, for example, and as much as I don't care, it wouldn't be his fault. It would more… incapacitate him. Give you a chance to sort things."

John held his hands out to his sides. "People will see him, they will recognise him. They'll know what we've done."

Mycroft shook his head. "Not many people actually saw him. Just knew of him. A new identity will be easy enough to hide him."

Sherlock smirked. "I can handle Molly."

"You will be nice and you will not turn on you charm," John warned. "I'll not have you flirting with her, not even for this."

"But-"

"No, Sherlock. Not happening. I shall deal with Molly."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Boy, go and put the kettle on. The good Inspector will be joining us in a minute, and you want the chance to prove yourself, don't you?"

"Yes, Master."

Mycroft had called Anthea. From the sound of it, he was already putting things in motion for Jim to have a new identity.

John sat forward in his chair, turning around so he could watch Jim work in the kitchen. "I can't believe we're considering this."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a murdering psychopath?"

"Who's as tame as a dog."

John let out a laugh, not believing a word. 

"Boy!" Sherlock barked. "Get in here. Right now!"

Moriarty hurried in and dropped to his knees at Sherlock's feet.

"John says you're a murdering psychopath," Sherlock told Jim. "Tell me, would you ever kill someone? Be truthful."

Moriarty whimpered, and ducked his head, shrinking in on himself.

"Boy! Answer the question," the detective barked.

The room went tense when Jim whispered, "Yes."

Sherlock was about to strike him, but Mycroft caught his arm. "Wait." He addressed the cowering man on the floor. "Under what circumstances would you kill someone?"

"To protect Master," Jim replied with a shaking voice.

Sherlock's gaze flicked from his kneeling slave to John. 

Mycroft crouched down in front of the criminal mastermind and gripped him by the throat. 

Jim shook visibly. "I'm sorry, sir."

"If my brother's life is in danger and John isn't there to intervene or is incapacitated, you may kill to save him. But listen well, if you make a mistake in judgement, I will put you down like the dog you are."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft backed off and inclined his head in Sherlock's direction. 

"Stand up, boy," the detective ordered. 

Not used to being on his feet anymore, Moriarty shakily stood upright.

"He'll need clothes to wear when we go on cases," Sherlock noted. "Definitely not Westwood. Nothing bespoke, in fact. He needs to blend into the background. He should make John's wardrobe look flashy."

"Oi!" the doctor protested, but his boyfriend ignored him.

"I'll take him shopping," Mycroft offered. 

"No." Sherlock shook his head. He needed to 'bond' with him, despite not wanting to. "John can join us."

The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced Greg's arrival.

"The shopping will have to wait," John said as the DI entered the flat.

"Who's going shopping?" Greg asked.

John pointed at his boyfriend. "Sherlock and his pet. We can't have Jimmy on your crime scenes dressed like that. What would Sally say?"

"Why would he be coming on my crime scenes?"

Sherlock frowned. "That's what all this is about, Greg," he felt like he was stating the obvious. "What use would he be if I kept him here all the time?"

"Mycroft," the DI said helplessly.

"My brother is correct. Moriarty's mind is quite capable. It would be a shame not to use it."

Greg looked to John for help.

"I'm just the madman in love with the lanky genius. I go along with what he says."

"Seriously, Greg," Sherlock reached out and pushed Jim back to his knees. "What did you think I was going to do with him?"

"I know, I know. It just came around quicker than I was expecting. "No one will recognise him. He'll just be another…" he glanced at John. "Colleague."

The doctor smirked. "Only when we're out."

Sherlock nudged Jim towards the kitchen. "He'll definitely be my slave when we're at home."

Moriarty returned to his abandoned task, making tea for four.

Whirling about, the detective held out his hand towards Greg. "What information have we got?" He seemed particularly gleeful.

"Not a lot."

"Anything of use?"

"I wouldn't know," Greg thrust his laptop into the detective's chest. "I'm just an imbecile."

Mycroft turned and pressed his lips to Greg's. "Don't sulk, its unbecoming."

The DI relaxed under the kiss. "Yeah, well it's tough on a bloke being surrounded by you MENSA types all the time."

Sherlock made a face. "Please. Most of them are boring, pompous gits. Don't compare us to them. Well, Mycroft maybe."

John reached over and clipped Sherlock on the back of the head. 

"Boy!" Sherlock yelled. 

Moriarty appeared with a tray from the kitchen. There were even biscuits arranged neatly on it. He crawled into the living room and set the tray on the coffee table. Without being told, he served Mycroft first as had become the custom, doing an incredibly good job of holding the vibrating plug inside of him as well as keeping steady. 

"Position 3 beside me, boy," Sherlock ordered.

When Jim had handed everyone their drinks, he settled on his knees beside the detective. Jim was surprised when Sherlock held his tea to his slave's lips. He sipped it gratefully, wondering what had brought it on and immeasurably grateful, still somehow ignoring the thrumming in his arse. 

The detective set his mug down and opened Greg's laptop. He had it on and had deduced his password in almost no time.

"I don't even know why I try," the DI groused.

"Mycroft, it appears you need to treat the met better."

"You alright, babe?" Mycroft whispered, sitting next to the DI. 

"Yeah."

"You're not. What is it?"

"My first day back at work and I have 15 cases that Gregson couldn't be bothered with."

"Gregson's an arse," John announced to the room. At everyone's look of surprise, he added, "Well, he is. Don't get me started on how he treats Sherlock."

Jim glanced up at the doctor's words and absently Sherlock reached out, put his hand in his hair and pushed his head back down again.

"Some of these cases are delightful," the detective said, smiling. "Of course the rest are completely boring. You can handle those on your own. Or… actually, boy, go over to Greg. He's got some cases for you to solve."

The DI looked up and then smiled. "Ok. The dog's help will be most welcome."

Jim crawled over to Greg and knelt before him. He would rather have been with his master, but if this was what he wanted him to do, he would and he would try to make him proud.

"Look at this one first." Greg pushed a file into Jim's chest, the buzzing changed in pitch as he gathered the file up. 

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock focused on his own case for a moment, but then glanced up to watch his pet. John came over and rested his hand on his shoulder. "What have you got?"

"Double homicide, made to look like a murder suicide. No witnesses. Locked room. A clear motive on the husband's part," he pointed to the husband's body, "but the wife was stabbed to death. There's not enough blood on his hands for him to have done it."

"Master?" Jim asked.

"What?!" Sherlock snapped. 

Jim flinched. Sighing, Sherlock pointed to the floor beside him. 

Jim shuffled forward. "These could be connected, Master."

"Show me," the detective demanded.

Jim spread out the case file that Greg had given him. The scene in the photos depicted another man and woman who had been stabbed. A suspect had been taken in, but subsequently released due to lack of evidence. He had steadfastly maintained his innocence, despite small spatters of the victim's blood on his hands. He had claimed they got there when he checked for a pulse.

"Well that one was clearly in the wrong pile."

Jim flinched back at Sherlock's words. 

"I don't know what you're looking so scared at, boy, it was hardly your fault."

Jim started to back away, but Sherlock caught him by the chin. "You can have the rest of my tea for making the connection between the cases."

Eyes going wide, Moriarty reached out a shaking hand and took the mug of tea. He drank it almost reverently. "Would you like another cup, Master?"

Sherlock glanced up at him. "Yes." He watched Jim hurry out of the room. 

"John, stab wounds like this, would the blood get less and less?" the detective asked.

"Ha, ha. Now you're trying to butter me up for later," John said. "You know the answer to that." Sherlock just stared at him. "As the victim weakened, the blood spatter would decrease along with the decrease in arterial blood pressure."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"What?"

"Look at these pictures, John, really look."

Frowning slightly, it took him a moment, but eventually John caught up. "There's too much blood."

"I need to see both of the crime scenes in person," Sherlock announced. "John, find something for my toy to wear. He's coming with me."

"You'll only be able to see one crime scene, mate," Greg pointed out. "This one was yesterday. That one was over a week ago, it's been cleared up."

Sherlock frowned. "It's my own fault for being so busy with that," he gestured towards Jim. "There's no help for it now. What are you still doing here, boy? You should be with John, getting dressed."

Jim placed Sherlock's tea on the table and scarpered out after the doctor. 

"Technically it's not your fault. As you hate me pointing out the obvious," Greg said, "I'm going to do it anyway. Today is the first I've known about any of these cases."

"Because you've been spending all your time with me." Sherlock stood and fetched his coat, putting it on. "I can't believe they let Gregson near these cases. That should constitute negligence in and of itself." Sherlock downed his tea, waiting for John to return with Jim. 

When the consulting criminal saw his master waiting, he dropped to his knees immediately. 

"Get up!" Sherlock barked. "Don't ruin the clothes you've been given by crawling around the floor like a dog."

Jim stood, feeling awkward. It wasn't just the standing. It was the clothes and the shoes, especially the shoes. It felt unnatural to him now.

"And stand up straight. Don't hunch," the detective ordered him. "Keep your shoulders back. Mycroft," the younger Holmes held his hand out and gripped onto the cane that was put in it. 

Jim ducked his head as Sherlock paced towards him. 

"Today you're a man, not a dog. You'll help me and the others. You'll do it without complaint and you will not show me up."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock lifted Moriarty's chin with the tip of the cane. "Once we step outside the walls of 221, you will address me as Mr. Holmes. Any slip up will be severely punished upon our return."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock nodded once and glanced over at Greg, then John. "We ready?"

John took his hand. "Come on then."

"Just one more thing," Mycroft stepped forward and wrapped a scarf around Jim's neck.

Moriarty trailed three steps behind John and Sherlock, not wanting to presume to appear as good as them. When the detective hailed a cab and it stopped, Jim rushed to open the door for them.

Sherlock just frowned and climbed in. He pointed at the seat facing the back of the vehicle and Jim sat there immediately. The other three sat next to each other.

John placed his hand on Sherlock's knee. "These little independent things he keeps doing, like opening the car door. I don't know how I feel about that."

"Me either," Greg agreed. "It's creepy.

"He has to be allowed to think," the detective pointed out, "and act, within reason. However, his actions do bear monitoring." Sherlock glanced up and saw the black screen in the cab separating them from the driver. He reached over and grabbed Jim's collar. "Don't take too much upon yourself, boy. I want you to fade into the background. If you're to obsequious, it will draw attention."

"Yes, ma- Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock scowled at him. "That's one slip up already. I'll be counting."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock pushed him back into his seat. "Don't forget, it might be my brother who punishes you."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes." Jim said for a third time, swallowing hard, and looked out the window. He had to watch his every move and word. Being handed over to Mycroft wasn't an option.

"Happy?" Sherlock whispered. 

The doctor was watching the Irishman. "I don't know. I don't trust this."

"Why not?"

"It's too good to be true."

"Reach in your coat pocket," Sherlock ordered.

John did so and came out with one of the remotes to Jim's collar.

"Press the button on that collar and Jim will be brought instantly to his knees. It will serve until Mycroft can upgrade the collar with his so called kill switch. Did you hear that, boy?"

Jim glanced over, eyeing the remote with a sense of trepidation. "Yes, Mr. Holmes."

The taxi pulled up outside the building housing the crime scene. Jim was torn, not knowing if he should open the car door or not. The dilemma was solved for him when Greg opened it and climbed from the car.Jim automatically waited until last, following the others out. He waited to the side as the DI paid through the window. 

"Don't walk behind me," Sherlock ordered. "Stick your hands in your pockets, act how John does."

It was unnatural to the criminal mastermind. In his past life he had carried himself with cocky assurance, though he had been good at shamming when the need had arisen. Now, however, all he knew was how to be subservient, but he had to try. He didn't know whether it was good or bad how little he thought about his past life or if he could really remember it. 

"Oi!" Sherlock snapped, looking up, "Keep up."

Jim hurried the few yards between them, bowing his head apologetically.

The four men garnered a few looks from the PCs that still lingered at the crime scene, but there was nothing like the challenge they would have faced had Sally been present.

"Have you named him yet?" Greg asked, opening the door for the others.

Sherlock grinned. "I've been thinking about that. Oscar."

John frowned. "Why Oscar?"

"Ozzy. I can call him Ozzy, it's a dogs name."

That made the doctor laugh. 


	13. The Test

Finally, they made their way to where the couple had died. There really was quite a lot of blood.

Sherlock snapped his fingers. "Ozzy, what do you see?" He wanted to give his toy a chance before he started deducing the crime scene himself.

Jim looked awkward at the name. 

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

Jim glanced away immediately and crouched down to the area marked out. 

"I asked you a question!"

"No, sir," he whispered.

Sherlock shook his head. At least he hadn't called him master. 'Sir' wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. "That's two," he warned with no further explanation.

Jim winced, but kept examining the crime scene.

"Explain then," Sherlock ordered, trying to put a halt to his deductions for a while. 

Jim glanced around and then stepped towards Sherlock, ducking his head. "There's another dead body, sir. Too much blood here for just two people."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Greg kicked at a clean patch of floor as he rounded about. "Just what I needed to hear. Add that to the other case 'Ozzy' connected to this one and I have five bodies to deal with."

"6, sir," Jim whispered, stepping back.

"What?!"

Jim's gaze darted to Sherlock, he inclined his head. 

"Same MO at both crime scenes, Inspector. Both made to look like murder-suicide's. But one would only make that assumption if there were two bodies. The killer took the third. On both occasions."

It was only years of discipline that kept Greg from sitting in the nearest chair. No matter how upset he got, he wouldn't compromise the integrity of the crime scene in such a way. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and let fly a stream of invective.

Jim cowered back until he hit the corner. 

"Sorry," Greg apologised to the detective, knowing he'd have to deal with it.

"Don't be stupid. It's Ozzy who is being a moron. You did good, boy, stop cowering in the corner."

At that, Moriarty didn't quite preen, but he did brighten up a bit. So much so, that he asked a question. "Did anyone see a large piece of furniture being moved from the flat?" He pointed at four indentations in the carpet. Something used to sit here. Something large enough to conceal a body."

"How do you conceal a body on a chair?" John asked with a laugh. 

"Not on a chair," Moriarty whispered. "In a chair."

Greg shook his head. "Is that even possible?"

Sherlock approached his pet, and patted him on the head since no one was looking. "That was well done. Very well done indeed." He whirled about. "Of course it's possible, given the size of the chair we're talking about. If the body were small, it could have been concealed in the interior and no one would have been the wiser."

"Small? A child?"

"No, sir," Jim shook his head, retaining the 'imbecile' glare that Sherlock would have given the doctor. "A woman."

Greg let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that. I hate it when it's children. You never get used to that."

John nodded his agreement. 

The DI squared his shoulders. "I'll get my people to start questioning the neighbours to see if they saw anyone moving furniture in the last 32 hours. Are you done here?" He asked the detective. 

Sherlock stared at the consulting criminal for a moment, watching as he ducked his head. "Yeah. I think we're done here. For now."

The detective gestured for Jim to proceed them. "After you, Ozzy." He chuckled and took John's hand, swinging it in a carefree manner.

"What's got you so happy?" the doctor asked.

"It actually worked."

"The name or his brain?"

"Both." He tugged John all the way down the stairs. "Get us a cab, Ozzy," Sherlock ordered, turning to kiss the blond.

John giggled, despite his remaining misgivings. "Maybe you should get your toy a treat," he said confidentially. "Ice cream or something. I don't know. What do you get ex-consulting criminals?"

Sherlock waited until they were in the back of the cab before he spoke. He reached over and grabbed Jim's collar. 

"I want you to do something for me, boy."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"Pick yourself a treat."

Jim's eyes went wide and he looked from Sherlock to John and back. "Mr. Holmes... Can I... Can I watch a movie?"

"I don't think letting him near the TV is a good idea."

Sherlock glanced towards the doctor. "You could be right. Sorry, boy, try something less harmful to society."

Jim frowned, not understanding. "Can I have a proper meal, sir?"

John nodded at that.

"Alright," Sherlock agreed. "Chinese or Italian?"

"Um, Italian, sir?" Anything that wasn't that horrible cereal sounded like heaven to Jim.

Sherlock knocked his finger on the glass and the window slid down. 

"Could you stop at Angelo's on the way to Baker Street?"

The cabbie nodded and grunted his assent.

"We're getting it to take back to the flat, right?" John asked. He couldn't imagine sitting in Angelo's and eating a meal with Jim. That seemed one step too far.

"Yeah, take away."

***

An hour later the 4 of them piled into the flat. The second the door was closed behind 221B, Sherlock shoved Jim to his knees.

Moriarty started to crawl to the corner, but the detective stopped him.

"Don't be ridiculous. Get plates and forks for everyone, yourself included," Sherlock ordered. "Then get drinks for everyone."

"Yes, Master."

"But first, strip off. I'll not have you ruining those clothes."

"Yes, Master," Jim repeated, he quickly got out of the clothes and folded them, placing the pile on the table, then he hurried into the kitchen.

John collapsed in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "So he got it right. I wasn't sure his criminal genius would translate to crime solving."

"Why not?" Sherlock dropped himself down on the doctor's lap. "If I hadn't met Greg, it would have been likely the way I would have gone."

"But your brother runs the government."

Sherlock grinned broadly. "That would have made it so much better. Think of the trouble I could have caused him." He looked off in the distance. "I'm still not sure I made the right decision."

John clipped him on the back of the head, "You give him enough trouble as it is."

Mycroft appeared at the door. "Can I smell food?"

"You always smell food," Sherlock countered.

"Mycroft, I want to apologise to you," John said, standing up. "I don't know how you're put up with your git of a brother for so many years. It seems I've misjudged you."

"John!" Sherlock yelled at which the doctor broke out laughing.

"You're the mad one, Doctor Watson. I had no choice in the matter. Have you lost your pet, Sherlock?"

"No. He's getting cutlery. Boy!"

Jim came crawling back and placed everything on the table. He had even accounted for the addition of Mycroft. "Sorry, Master. I had to wash a plate to have enough. Shall I get beer for Doctor Watson and Inspector Lestrade? And what would you like, Master? And your brother?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Those were the most words Jim had strung together in days. He didn't know whether to be worried or not and glanced to Mycroft for help. 

The government official stared at him intently for a moment. "We'll have beer too, Sherlock, yes?"

The detective nodded and Jim hurried off. "You can have a cup of tea, boy, if you like."

"Thank you, Master." Jim scurried off and brought back four beers, offering the first to Mycroft. After the rest were passed out, he went and made himself a cup of tea, his very own cup, not his master's leftovers. He carried it back carefully, now nervous. 

"Here," Sherlock pointed at the gap beside his chair at the table.

Jim dropped to his knees and placed the mug on the table. Before he could put his hands behind his head, Sherlock grabbed his wrist. "Go and get the stool from upstairs."

Worried, Moriarty fetched the stool. He didn't want to be thrown over it and caned. He thought he had done better than that. When he appeared with the stool, Sherlock ordered him to place it by the table where Moriarty's food had been placed. "You may sit on it to eat."

Jim looked absolutely terrified. 

"Now, boy, I will not ask again."

Jim sat down, still lower than the rest of them, but it still felt wrong. 

"You won't be on it long," Sherlock informed him.

It almost felt like a punishment rather than a privilege. Sat as he was, it was easy to see the expression on each man's face and it felt like they were all watching him, waiting on him to make a mistake.

"So, brother mine, how did the experiment go?" Mycroft asked after taking a sip of his beer.

Sherlock reached across the table and snagged some of John's pasta. 

"Oi!"

Laughing, he glanced at Jim. "Far better than I had been expecting."

Greg let out a tired sigh. "My body count went up." He leaned against his boyfriend. "I hate it when that happens." 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Really? How intriguing." 

"My pet was able to discern that there had been three bodies at the crime scene and how the third body was removed." Sherlock actually sounded proud of Jim.

"Getting slow, baby brother?"

Sherlock glowered at him. "I put my deductions on halt!"

"That's bollocks," John looked across the table at him. 

"He needed to be useful. So I shut up, is that a problem?"

John and Greg exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.

"He shut up!" the DI said, his voice full of mirth.

John hit the table with his fist. "He doesn't know how to shut up!"

Jim was sat at the end of the table staring down at his plate of food. He didn't know what to do or when to do it, and the others laughing so much wasn't helping.

It was Mycroft who noticed. He picked up Jim's fork and put it in his hand. "Apparently you did well today. Eat, boy."

Jim's eyes widened at the only not-spiteful thing Mycroft had said in months. "Yes, sir." He waited until Sherlock had eaten a few more mouthfuls before he began. To his horror, he felt himself start to cry. Jim had been praised by his master, spoken to kindly by Mycroft and treated to real food. He didn't deserve any of those things, he knew he didn't. He managed to keep his tears silent, but as soon as everyone had finished eating Sherlock noticed. 

"Boy?" The detective pushed his plate away. "What is wrong with you?"

"Master, I don't deserve this." Jim slipped backwards off the stool and assumed position 1. On the floor was where he belonged.

"You haven't finished eating, boy."

Almost in reply, Jim leant to the side and vomited.

"Nice," Greg complained sarcastically. 

"Boy?" Sherlock gripped Moriarty's curls in his hand. 

"I'm sorry, Master," he croaked.

John got up and walked around to Jim. He checked his forehead. "He feels fine. Boy, what's wrong with you?"

Jim's eyes were streaming with tears. 

The doctor sighed, eyes falling on the food. "It probably was a bit rich after what he has been eating."

"Still, he can clean the mess up," Sherlock declared.

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master." Jim pushed himself up into position 1. 

"Go and get the cleaning supplies." Jim crawled out of the room and Sherlock sighed. "I keep screwing up."

"No. You don't. Proper food will be good for him," Mycroft pointed out. "Not all the time, not even every day, but when he earns it."

"Agreed," the doctor chimed in. "We'll just need to make sure it's not so rich in the future, but it still needs to be something rewarding."

Greg leaned back in his chair. "I need to be going. I need to find out if my people learned anything from the neighbours about seeing that chair being moved. I also had them ask around at the other crime scene about anything similar."

"Do you ever stop working?" Mycroft complained. 

Greg snorted. "That's rich coming from you, but it was only my first day back."

"Speaking of work..." John sighed and looked at Sherlock.

"The clinic called," the detective said flatly.

"Yes, they're short handed. They need me to come in tomorrow and probably the day after that."

Sherlock sighed. "It's fine. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"You aren't staying alone with him, Sherlock," Mycroft warned. "If I have to go in too, he'll be chained in the basement."

Jim had almost cleaned up his mess when he heard Mycroft's pronouncement. It bothered him less than he thought it would. Being chained in the basement wasn't so bad if he wasn't being punished at the same time.

Sherlock wandered into the kitchen and fetched Jim a glass of water. "Drink that," he ordered, pressing it into his pet's hands.

Moriarty looked at the glass of water blankly for a moment, then he began to drink it. Soon, the awful taste was gone from his mouth. "Thank you, Master. That was kind, Master." He flinched, wondering if he had spoken out of turn. 

Sherlock smoothed his hand through Jim's hair, rather surprised at his pet's response. 

"Sherlock, don't you think he's becoming a little… independent?" John asked.

Frowning, the detective looked down at the kneeling man. "It would be best to limit your speech, boy, unless asked for your opinion." He toyed with Jim's hair. "Perhaps some time in a gag is in order."

Sherlock's hand slipped free as the consulting criminal's head jerked up, his eyes widened slightly. 

"Master, please no."

"The fact you are arguing against it indicates you definitely need it." Sherlock gripped Jim's hair tightly. "Greg, you're nearest the door. Would you go get a suitable gag from downstairs?"

The DI nodded. "Sure."

"John, fetch the shackles."

The doctor was back the quickest, having to only go to the bedroom. 

Sherlock quickly cuffed his hands and feet. "You need to remember your place, boy."

"I do, Master, it's at your feet."

Sherlock shook his head. "You're talking too much."

When Greg appeared with the gag, the detective took it gratefully and soon fitted it on his toy. "Knee walk to the corner, boy, and keep out of the way."

Jim ducked his head and didn't keep in his whimper.

"Go!" Sherlock barked. He watched his pet shuffle awkwardly across the room until he reached the corner and dropped his head again.

Sherlock sat in John's lap looking smug. "Lestrade, you need to arrest the ex-husband of the female victim at the first crime scene, the one whose body was found. He was also the business partner of the male found at the second crime scene. Of course he had an accomplice, a new junior partner. You'll want to arrest him too."

"You're just now telling me this?!' Greg complained.

"I was busy seeing how my toy would perform."

"Well he missed out everything of importance!"

"No, he didn't. He just took longer to get to the solution. His brain is a little slow at the moment, but I'm sure it'll get there."

John snorted. "It could be because he's more used to planning crimes than solving them."

"I kept him on a tight leash, figuratively speaking," the detective insisted. "I didn't let him see everything that I observed."

"Keep telling yourself that, babe. Because I don't trust him."

"Neither do I!" Sherlock snapped. "But he's not plotting anything. If I can't tell when he is, Mycroft will be able to."

The government official smiled blandly. "I assure you, John, my brother is correct. Sherlock's little toy has always been rather easy to read."

John stared at him for a moment when Sherlock interrupted the glare-off. 

"Greg, haven't you got people to arrest or something?" the detective asked.

The DI shook his head. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever," he grabbed his coat. "When I get back, I'm getting drunk." He stalked out of the flat and stomped down the stairs.

John was having a good laugh at the DI's expense.

Mycroft wasn't. "I shall have to do something nice for Gregory when he finally makes it home."

Sherlock stared at the back of his slave's head for a moment before turning on his brother. "Why? I've just solved him the biggest serial killer case he's ever had."

"You solve the cases, brother mine, but you're never there for the actual clean up. Gregory will be completely knackered when he gets home. I hate how hard these cases are on him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed John's hand, pulling him close. "Then why don't you lend a hand, Mr. British Government?"

"It's not my place. The Yarders would hardly be delighted to have the interference of the Home Office." 

In the corner, Jim shifted. He knew he should be glad to be ignored, but he felt abandoned.

Sherlock heard him move, but ignored him. He'd done a good job today, but he'd been rewarded, then he'd overstepped his boundaries.

"He needs rules Mycroft. I can't just pick and choose when he's pushed some invisible boundary."

"For one, I don't like him saying whatever is on his mind." John glared at the back of Jim's head. "I want him to say the bare minimum in response to questions. No elaborations."

"I already told him that."

"Yeah, well, make sure he knows it's a rule."

"He walks beside us when we are outside. I don't like the idea of him being behind."

Sherlock frowned at the doctor, questioningly. 

"If we can't see him, we don't know what he's doing."

"What else?"

"I want him to get weekly reminders of how bad his life could be," John insisted. "Just enough so he'll appreciate his time up here with us."

At that Jim stated visibly shaking. 

Sherlock wasn't sure he liked the sound of that either, "He'd be punished for no reason?"

"No, it would be a warning."

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It needn't be anything too rigorous," Mycroft chimed in. "Unless he's earned it, of course. Just a few simple reminders would do."

"Like what?"

"Boy, come here!" Mycroft barked. 

Jim awkwardly shuffled back across the room, his mouth spread wide around the gag.

With one hand, Mycroft cupped Jim's chin. "Tell me, boy, do you like being milked without your master present?"

Jim whimpered. He didn't like it at all, but if master was there, it was tolerable because it was done at his pleasure, or at least so Jim reasoned. He shook his head no in a frantic motion.

"That's merely one example," the government official stated. "There are many others."

"What about the cane?" John stepped forward and much to his surprise, Jim cowered back. 

"Another option,” Mycroft agreed.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Boy, it's bed time."

Jim was too scared to move. All this talk of independent thought and action had him terrified.

"Boy! To me!" Sherlock snapped.

Immediately, Jim crawled to his master's side. When Sherlock's hand fell to his head, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Mine and John's room, or yours, boy?"

Jim whimpered, as the detective removed the gag. 

"Yours, Master. P-please, Master."

Sherlock nodded once and then began tugging him to where he had slept the night before.

The detective found it fascinating that Jim actually relaxed as he was chained to the wall. It wasn't a sham, the consulting criminal had truly become acclimated to his new life.

Sherlock changed his cuffs to tie them in front then pulled the hood out of the drawer and threw it to Moriarty. "Put it on."

"Yes, Master," he whispered, slipping it over his head.

Sherlock tied it up and then patted his now hooded head. He paused on his way out of the room and grabbed the spare blanket from under the bed.

Walking over, Sherlock ordered Jim to lay down, then he draped the blanket over his toy. Despite what the others might say, Jim had done well today. He deserved not to shiver throughout the night.

"Thank you, Master," Jim whispered through the hood. 

Sherlock nodded once and then walked back to where the others were, shutting the door as he went.

Only to walk into an abrupt and awkward silence. He looked from face to face, his eyes narrowing. "You think I trust him too much."

"No," John said, standing. "We think you're too infatuated with him. You're forgetting what he is."

"My dog." He threw himself into his armchair and picked up his violin, plucking at the strings pointlessly. 

"Is that all?"

"Yes, of course it is. What else am I supposed to say? He is fascinating. I find it interesting to watch how his personality shifts and changes as he adapts to his new life. He's my grandest experiment, but he's still nothing more than my dog at the end of the day."

"You remember what happened to Redbeard, Sherlock."

The detective glared at Mycroft, "This is nothing like Redbeard!"

"What's Redbeard?" John asked. 

Glaring at his brother, Sherlock spoke. "He was my dog."

Mycroft managed to look sad without changing his expression in the slightest. "He had to be put down when Sherlock was young."

"You… had a dog?" 

Sherlock turned his glare from his brother to his boyfriend. "So?"

The doctor shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing."

But he had a bemused look on his face. Clearly, John couldn't imagine a young Sherlock with a dog. "Do you have pictures?"

Sherlock's gaze flicked back to his brother. "Why don't I have pictures of him?"

Mycroft shrugged. "We never had a camera."

"Mummy's a mathematician. How did we not have a camera?"

"She gave that up for us, Sherlock. Not having a camera isn't that big of a deal."

John sighed. "Ah, well. It would have been nice to see. Still, I think you're brother made a good point. Don't get too attached."

"You're supposed to side with me against him," Sherlock said, pointing at his brother. "John, you're not being reasonable."

"I'm not siding with anyone. Getting close won't help."

"I'm close to you!" Sherlock spat. He threw his violin on the table and stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

He quickly stripped off his suit and climbed into bed, facing away from the door.

John didn't feel a bit better about the situation, in fact he felt worse. Sherlock had fled from him to Jim. He stood and looked towards their bedroom, undecided as to what to do.

Mycroft inclined his head in the direction of the bedroom. "Go."

John threw the door open, expecting to see his boyfriend crouched on the floor with Jim. Instead he saw the consulting criminal curled up in a ball and Sherlock on the bed.

The tightness in his chest dissipated immediately. John walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sherlock," he said his boyfriend's name softly. "I didn't mean to be an arse." He waited for a response, but one wasn't forthcoming.

"Mycroft!"

After a moment, the government official appeared at the bedroom door. "I do not come at your beck and-" he spotted his brother and sighed. He'd underestimated him. Again. 

"Can you take him into the other room for a few minutes?"

Without another word, Mycroft unchained Jim from the wall and led him from the room. He closed the door behind them to give the two men some privacy.


	14. No Way Back

Toeing off his shoes, John lay down next to his boyfriend and wrapped an arm around his waist. He was surprised when Sherlock let it remain there. He had expected it to be batted away. "I'm sorry, babe," he whispered. 

Sherlock still didn't respond, just squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Why did everyone always think the worst of him?

"I love you. I've always been jealous of Jim." John pressed his forehead to Sherlock's shoulder. "He's not an idiot like I am. He's not boring. And now you have him for your very own pet. I don't know. I can't seem to turn it off."

Sherlock still didn't speak until eventually John sighed and rolled back off the bed. "I told you I would get rid of him. When all this started, I said that, but you said no,” Sherlock said quietly. 

John stopped where he stood and bowed his head. "I did, didn't I? Bloody buggering fuck." He kicked out at nothing in particular. "But I was right. We can't just change him like this, then cast him away. Jesus." John stood there, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just... I just need to know I'm still the person you think about first. I know, that makes me an idiot, because I know I am, but my stupid heart-"

Sherlock snorted but didn't speak. 

"Sherlock…"

"We discussed all of this. Months ago. More than once. And now you're making things difficult." He rolled over and sat upright. "Do you want me to give him to Mycroft? Because I will if it will make you happy."

John had to back up and sit on the edge of the bed. He felt like a dick. "You don't have to do that." He looked down at his hands. "I'll try to be more objective."

"You said that the last three times we had this conversation."

Sherlock wasn't soft and pliable like he had been so long ago when they were discussing it before. "You don't realise how much I would give up to make you happy, John. You underestimate that side of me. And I don't like it."

"I don't want you to have to give anything up because of me. I'm saying this all wrong," John said unhappily. He looked into Sherlock's eyes. "How do I fix this?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock looked away. "I don't know what I've done wrong. If I did I could fix things."

John sighed, then opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock carried on. 

"I've spent time with you, I've put up with my brother and Greg on a daily basis, yes we've… got closer, but it started out to please you. We still go out together. We still do cases…"

"You haven't done anything wrong. It's me being a twat."

Sherlock couldn't help himself, he chuckled. "You're good at being a twat." He sobered. "But I still don't know how to fix this."

"You'll probably think I'm just being silly, but... could you make a point of hugging me a bit more often?" John blushed bright red even as he said it.

Sherlock folded his arms and turned away.

John's face slipped into one of outrage, before Sherlock turned and wrapped his arms around him. "Now you're the twat!" John declared.

"Mm, hm."

"I really am sorry," John said, revelling in the feeling of Sherlock's arms around him. It was a feeling Jim would never know. He should have realised that earlier.

"Tired," Sherlock complained. 

"Alright." John ignored the absurdity of that coming from the younger man. "Go and tell your brother we're going to bed and bring the dog back with you."

"I can lock him downstairs, if you want?"

"No, I want him in the corner. I want him to see us together, cuddling. Or rather, hear us."

"You, John Watson, are a jealous man."

"You're just now noticing that," John teased. "I thought you were more observant than that."

Sherlock shook his head and got to his feet. He pushed the doctor so he fell back on the bed, then wandered out to get his pet. 

Mycroft had him knelt up in the corner, his cuffed wrists behind his head and the leash tied to the fire place.

"You appear to be in a better mood," Mycroft noted.

"Yup." Sherlock untied the leash from the mantle. "I'm taking the dog back to his bed, then John and I are going to get some sleep together. Feel free to use the upstairs room again unless you want to go home."

"I'll be fine here until Gregory gets back."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well… night."

Back in their bedroom, he chained Jim to the wall again, then he climbed into bed with John. Together, Sherlock and the doctor cuddled until they fell asleep.

Jim curled up against the wall trying his hardest to sleep too, but he couldn't help but think he'd upset master because John was upset and that was his fault. Jim started chewing on the gag, nervously. At the same time, he started scratching at the back of his right hand, despite the cuffs. He did it most of the night, worrying the whole time.

Sherlock groaned as he woke up, the doctor latched around him. It was usually the other way round, but John was touching as much of the detective as he could reach.

After last night, the detective wasn't in a hurry to disturb John. He wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on his boyfriend's head. It did still upset him that the doctor didn't trust him. He laid there for a while in the dark and quiet before sliding out beneath him. As soon as his feet his the floor he heard his pet whimper.

Sherlock walked over to Jim and unhooked his leash from the wall. He gave it a tug and Moriarty got on his knees with another whimper. That was when the detective noticed the bloody back of his toy's hand. "John! Wake up!"

"Go away," John growled, turning over. 

Sherlock let out a huff of annoyance and whacked the back of his head with Jim's blanket. "I need Doctor Watson to wake up. Jim has hurt himself." 

It was more the fact that Sherlock called the consulting criminal Jim than anything else that got John's attention. "What's he done?" the doctor asked as he climbed out of bed.

Sherlock turned the light on and pulled his whimpering pet from the corner. 

Sighing, John walked through the room and grabbed his dressing gown. "Take his hood off."

With a nod, the detective removed Jim's hood. It was dripping wet with saliva. His pet's eyes were bloodshot and his face a mask of despair.

"What the hell?" Sherlock fought the gag out of his dog's mouth and saw the mess he had made of it. The teeth marks, and the chunks that had nearly fallen off.

At that moment, John walked up with his kit. He echoed Sherlock's words of surprise. "Bloody hell." Going to his knees, he looked at Jim's hand. "What were you thinking?" he asked Jim sharply.

Jim cowered back, folding himself into a ball. He didn't speak.

Sherlock grumbled something inaudible and picked him up, dropping him on the bed. "Tell me, boy. Right now!"

"I upset- upset-" Jim glanced at John. "I upset you both, sir." He bent double, trying to hide his face.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “There's no way back from this now, John. Decide what you want. Because whatever you decide…”

John jutted his chin forward as he opened his kit. "I'm not going to ignore this. Uncuff him." He started placing what he would need on the bed. "Jesus, but he shredded his hand."

"Because of last night!" Sherlock snapped. He didn't care what John thought right now, this wasn't Jim's fault. He pushed his hand through his hair and reached up to grab the glass of water on the unit.

John flushed red. "Yeah, I get that. I don't get why, though." John started working on Jim's hand, being surprisingly gentle. "I mean, he said he did it because he upset us. What do I matter to him?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Sherlock hissed, holding the water for Jim to sit up. 

The irishman watched the glass with trepidation as he sipped from it, Sherlock's hand in his hair.

John sighed. He was clearly still in trouble with his boyfriend. "Okay, boy, it seems like you got upset by me and Sherlock fighting." He smoothed antibiotic cream over the back of Jim's hand. "Why does it matter to you?"

Moriarty glanced at Sherlock before answering. "I don't want Master to be upset. It was my fault he was because I upset you."

John strapped his hand up. "How was it your fault?"

Jim didn't answer. He tried to pull free, make himself smaller. He shouldn't be on the bed, when had he been put on the bed?

"Hey, hey, hey," John said, trying to steady him. "You're not going to get punished for answering my question. Now how was it your fault?" It was strange, John suddenly felt differently towards Jim. He still didn't trust him, but his resentment towards his presence seemed to have fled.

"You never argue, sir. And you were arguing over me."

"You weren't in the room."

Sherlock sighed heavily. "He heard enough. And even if he hadn't, it wouldn't have been a difficult leap for him to make."

The next words out of John's mouth were the last ones he had ever thought he would say to Jim Moriarty. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "Maybe it seems like your fault, but it wasn't."

Jim didn't seem convinced, but John didn't know what else to say. 

When the consulting criminal's hand was properly strapped up he fell from the bed to his knees.

John backed up a few steps and looked at Sherlock. "What do I do?" He felt more than a bit at a loss. He almost felt like he should offer to cook breakfast for the consulting criminal.

"Whatever you want. Back to the corner, boy."

Jim moved immediately and Sherlock tied his leash again. "I'm going to go and fetch you some mittens, I don't want you hurting yourself."

As soon as Sherlock disappeared, Jim started scratching at the wrap on his hand. John rushed over and stopped him, holding both of his hands in his own. "If you want to make Sherlock happy, leave this alone." He gave the bandaged hand a shake.

"Yes, sir," Jim spoke as he cowered back again and it immediately made John flinch. He wasn't that scary, was he? He wasn't meant to be best friends with the man, but it was Mycroft he was supposed to be scared of.

"Shit." John wished Sherlock was here. Jim flinched back again. "No, no, no. That wasn't aimed at you. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm upset with myself." Once again, John had the feeling of not being believed, but he didn't say anything. 

It wasn't long before Sherlock returned, his brother in tow.

Mycroft took in the situation in a glance. "I see what you mean, little brother." He walked over and tried to take Jim's bandaged hand, but he cowered back. "I'm not going to hurt you, boy."

Jim watched him for a moment, not believing Mycroft at all. 

"I presume last night's conversation got quite vocal?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Not really… we just disagreed a bit."

The elder Holmes sighed. "Right. And world war two was just a little skirmish." He shook his head. "Your toy is in a delicate place. He's been broken down. He has no defences. Until he has been built back up in the manner you desire, he is vulnerable, much like a child."

"I was never vulnerable as a child," Sherlock countered with a sneer. 

"Redbeard," Mycroft hissed, snagging Jim's leash and pulling him out of the room.

So much for the mittens. 

John and Sherlock exchanged glances before they followed the pair from the room. They found Jim in his corner and Mycroft cooking breakfast. It seemed a strange turn of events. What seemed the strangest was the fact Jim seemed quite content in the corner on his own, curled up in a ball without anything to worry about. In fact, Moriarty seemed to be trying to fall asleep and Mycroft was letting him.

"Is Greg still here, or has he left already?" John asked the government official.

"He's upstairs. He was rather knackered."

"I'll put on the coffee for him, then." John would make tea for the rest of them.

"I wouldn't just yet, Doctor Watson. He didn't get in until a few hours ago and coffee will wake him."

"Fair enough." Even so he stuck the kettle on.

In the other room, Sherlock was crouched behind the consulting criminal, running a hand through his hair. "The next time you can't sleep, boy, you are to tell me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," Jim replied in a drowsy tone.

"And don't ever hurt yourself. That's never allowed. That's my job."

Eyes falling shut, Jim replied again with, "Yes, Master."

Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom and gathered up his pet's blanket and a spare pillow. He dropped the blanket over the older man and tucked the pillow under his head.

John came out of the kitchen at that point carrying tea. 

"Don't you dare, John. He is sleeping with something comfortable. He's my pet and he isn't going to be rebuilt the way he was before!"

The doctor nodded. "I agree. If I didn't, I wouldn't have patched him up." He handed a mug of tea to Sherlock. "I didn't understand before. It's almost like we're his parents, now."

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't believe you just said that. And despite what you may think of me, I wouldn't put my child in the corner to sleep."

"Fine. He's a dog we really care about. Now are you going to take this tea or shall I throw it at you?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up briefly and he took the mug. He observed John closely. Finally, John seemed to truly understand what they were trying to do. Hopefully that meant there would be no repeats of the 'discussion' they had had last night. Five times had been boring and tedious enough. 

Sherlock settled himself in his armchair and stared at his mug. 

"Is it safe letting your brother cook?"

"Mycroft is rather good at cooking, actually."

"Huh."

"Why do you think he's so fat?"

John grabbed the Union Jack pillow and threw it at his boyfriend. "Your brother is not fat. He's a perfectly healthy weight. Unlike you," the doctor added.

Sherlock just poked his tongue out at him. 

Half an hour later, Mycroft brought a tray out of the kitchen.

"Ozzy," Sherlock called out. "Come here, bring your pillow." Sherlock smiled seeing 4 dishes on the tray.

"Gregory's is in the kitchen for when he gets up."

"May I feed him?" John asked. "I feel I should, I don't know, establish a bond with him too. Especially since I'm the one that will be patching him up if he gets hurt again."

Sherlock thought for a moment and then inclined his head. "Ok."

Jm took the initiative and shuffled over to the doctor. John didn't like how he was behaving around him, the slave was actually shivering in terror where he knelt.

John smoothed Jim's hair back. "How's your hand feel? Better? Do you need something for pain?"

Looking towards Sherlock, Jim answered quietly, "It's fine, sir."

"Was that a lie?"

Again, Jim's gaze darted to his master.

"Answer honestly, boy," Sherlock ordered. 

Jim didn't like this. He preferred it when John hated his existence. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

John nodded. "Would you fetch two paracetamol?" he asked his boyfriend. "There's no reason for you to hurt. You aren't being punished."

"Yes, sir," he repeated, staring at the floor. 

Mycroft watched on, feeling an odd sense of pride towards his brother.

John broke off a small piece of toast and offered it to Jim who hesitated before accepting it from his hand. The consulting criminal felt confused. The doctor had never treated him this way.

"It's alright, boy, you can eat it," John told him. 

Jim just stared at his hand, where the piece of toast sat.

"John, perhaps I should feed him today. Maybe you could try again later?"

The doctor clapped his hands to his knees, causing Jim to startle. "I guess that's for the best. He definitely needs to eat."

"Come here then, boy," Sherlock ordered.

He had never seen Jim move so fast, he scrambled across the room, leaving the pillow beside John. He curled himself around Sherlock's leg.

"I believe there's still a bit of toast crushed in your fist. Go ahead and eat it," the detective told Jim, "and lick your palm clean."

Moriarty did so immediately, then returned to waiting.

Mycroft had paused in his own breakfast and had instead focused his attentions on Sherlock and Moriarty.

John watched Mycroft watch Sherlock. He was amused to see the clear pride on the elder Holmes' face. He wished his boyfriend would look up and see it for himself.

"Here," Sherlock passed down a full slice. "Go ahead," he told him running his hand through Jim's hair briefly. 

Jim seemed content just to kneel there and nibble on it. His eyes darted around the flat, from John to Mycroft and always back to Sherlock. He seemed to be calming down though, so that much was good.

Sherlock nudged him with his foot so Jim moved more to the side, he rested his feet up on the coffee table. 

Jim glanced from Sherlock's face to the table and back again. "Master?"

"Yes, boy?"

"Would you like me to… be a foot stool, master?"

Sherlock pushed his hand through Jim's overgrown hair again. "No, boy. You just sit there and eat that. If you're still hungry after you can have mine."

"No," John said from across the room. 

"Fine," he huffed. "I'll get you some more if you're still hungry after. We'd better stick to bland foods until your stomach is stronger. Unless you decide to misbehave again."

"Yes, Master," Jim replied, ducking his head. He had no intention of misbehaving. He did as his master instructed and ate everything he had been given. It seemed like quite a lot.

"Do you want anymore?" Sherlock asked, ruffling his hair again. He found he enjoyed doing it, he hoped it could be seen as praise for Jim too. Even though, just being close to Sherlock seemed to calm him remarkably.

"No, Master." Jim yawned broadly, then scrubbed at his eyes.

"Go to your dog bed and get yourself some sleep, boy." Sherlock pushed him gently towards it and watched as Jim crawled over and curled up under the blanket. Sherlock sat back into his chair, sighing heavily and only just now looking across at his brother. "What?"

"You're doing rather well with him."

Greg chose that moment to make an appearance. "John, did I just hear my boyfriend compliment your boyfriend?"

John looked up in time to see the DI stretch. Then he plonked himself on Mycroft's lap, nicking some of his fruit. "You did indeed."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

John shrugged. "I'm sure it won't last long. They'll be back to glaring at each other soon enough."

"We will continue to get along as long as Mycroft remains on my side," Sherlock pronounced.

"Er… little brother, I think you'll find it's the other way around."

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his brother.

Across the room, Jim peeked out from under his blanket. He didn't understand how Master could interact so casually with Mycroft.

Sherlock's head snapped over, sensing they were being watched. Jim whimpered and curled in on himself, facing the wall again. "It's alright, boy, I never said you couldn't look over here."

Moriarty let out a soft, "Yes, Master," but he remained facing the wall.

Greg noticed the way everyone in the room seemed to be behaving slightly different towards Jim this morning, but decided to ask later, out of the man's hearing. "I've got the late shift today. Gregson's covering this morning. So I don't have to be in a rush. It's a good thing too. I need to go by the house and get a change of clothes."

"You must be really tired," Sherlock observed.

"Hmm?"

Sherlock laughed. "You moved a load of your stuff in months ago."

Mycroft chuckled. "I'm not so sure you should have got out of bed just yet." He kissed him just behind the ear. "Maybe you should take the day off."

Embarrassed, the DI shook his head. "Can't. There's still all those cases that piled up whilst I was gone. I feel guilty enough going in late as it is."

"I won't have you making yourself ill, Gregory."

"It's been one day, Mycroft. I'll manage."

"But-" 

Greg spun on his toe and went straight into the kitchen. He fixed himself some coffee and found the plate of food Mycroft had obviously made for him. Despite being annoyed with his boyfriend, he had to grin. There was a slice of melon carved into the shape of a heart sitting in the middle of his plate. "Did you plan on annoying me this morning?" Greg grumbled walking into the sitting room with his mug and plate.

Sherlock saw what was on it and made a gagging sound.

"If he's like mine, he plans on annoying you every day," John noted.

Jim peeked over his shoulder again, trying to understand how anyone could tease his Master, let alone Mycroft.

This time it was Mycroft who glanced over. "I think your pet is confused, Sherlock."

The detective let his eyebrow raise and got to his feet. He crossed over to Moriarty and crouched down beside him. "You have permission to ask a question, Ozzy."

Jim blinked, then shook his head rapidly. He wasn't about to risk angering Mycroft.

The detective considered his toy's likely source of confusion. "I'll answer it anyway. My brother isn't evil. The innocent have nothing to fear from him. It's those who have done evil who needs to fear him. Right now, you have a great deal of evil to answer for, but as long as you behave, you'll be safe enough."

Jim glanced towards the government official again. "Yes, Master."

"I can sense a 'but' coming."

"No, Master."

"Go on, speak."

"Me being good isn't me being innocent,  Master."

Sherlock sighed. "No it isn't. You'll never be innocent, but you can do your best never to hurt anyone again. That will please me. If I'm pleased, you won't get punished."

"Does he even remember what he did?" John asked from across the room. 

"Why would he forget?" Greg was enjoying his heart shape melon, but was already falling asleep again.

Sherlock stared at John, his conductor of light. He turned back to Jim. "Do you, boy? Do you remember what you did?"

Jim started shaking. "Bad things. Bad, bad things."

"Yes, but what?"

"I don't... I tried to hurt you, Master. And I know I tried to hurt him." Jim pointed to Greg. "But that's all I remember."

Sherlock frowned. This wasn't… "Ozzy, look at John, tell me everything you can about him."

Jim listed off a load of deductions, such as bad sleep, not shaving, stress. All of it was right. 

Sherlock blinked before straightening up and heading out of the living room.


	15. Billy

Surprisingly, it was Mycroft who followed. "What is it little brother?"

"He's not that person anymore."

"I wouldn't go quite that far. Perhaps you don't have to treat him as the old Moriarty, but remember, his memories aren't gone. Memories don't work like that. They're likely suppressed. Hopefully, they'll stay that way and you won't have to deal with the old Jim again."

"How can I do this to him, Mycroft? He's not… he's not a criminal mastermind."

"He still can be. Let him go and he'll likely revert to that. If he finds Moran… Sherlock, it doesn't bear thinking about."

The detective had to grudgingly agree. With Moran's influence, those suppressed memories might come rushing back. "Alright, but I refuse to treat him rough. I'll still be strict and treat him as a danger, though."

"What's the difference?"

"Firm but fair? Isn't that what Greg says about the way John treats me?"

"It's not the same. You're not a mass murderer."

"It's what I'm going to do unless you're going to take him away."

Mycroft crossed his arms and looked down for several long moments. "I won't take him away unless he reverts."

"He won't."

Mycroft grabbed his brother by the arm. "Sherlock, think about this, you can't change the way you've been treating him. You just have to carry on as planned."

"Why?"

"You saw how he reacted to one deviation last night. He hurt himself and sat worrying."

"That wasn't a deviation. That was John and I... having a row," Sherlock admitted with slumped shoulders. "We'll make sure not to do it in front of him again."

"Sherlock, that's not right. Your life has to work with him in it now. That's why you can't change the way he is. He's your dog. Yours and John's. You're his master… but he has to respect John nearly as much as you."

"Mycroft! Did I say I was suddenly going to treat him like my best friend?! No! I'm just not going to treat him like the dog that gets kicked at every turn." He stalked away, frustrated.

Mycroft huffed. "Sherlock," he called, to warn him. It was likely Jim had reacted badly to his master suddenly getting to his feet and storming from the room.

Moriarty had covered his head with the blanket and was curled in a ball. Mycroft had the urge to soothe him, but knew it wasn't his place. He didn't appreciate the irony that was exactly what Sherlock had been trying to explain, Jim, or rather Ozzy, needed that type of treatment now. Mycroft jerked his head in Jim's direction. "John, care to deal with that?"

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Here." The detective grumbled from the door.

"Alright," John agreed when Sherlock didn't make a move to intervene.

"I'm going out," the detective announced, then spun on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

Confused, John went over and sat behind Jim and began rubbing circles on his back.

Jim trembled beneath John's hand, unsure what was happening or why Master was leaving. 

"Did I upset Master, sir?" He whispered after he'd calmed slightly. "I didn't mean to, sir."

"You didn't upset anyone... Ozzy. You have to get used to this bunch. We tend to row. It doesn't make it your fault when it happens." John tucked the pillow back under Jim's head and covered him with a blanket. He was of half a mind to give him a sleeping pill, but John didn't want to do that sort of thing without Sherlock here. "Do you want to stay in here with us to sleep? Go in my room? Or downstairs?"

"Can I stay here, sir?" Jim was afraid to be left alone.

"Of course you can, but try not to let us bother you."

"Yes, sir." 

John gave him a rather redundant pat on the head and went to sit back beside Mycroft. 

 

"Where's your brother gone?"

The government official rolled his eyes. "God knows."

Greg had been totally unfazed by everything that had happened. He finished his breakfast and his coffee, taking his dishes into the kitchen, then he came back for Mycroft. "John has everything well in hand. Come get a shower and relax. You need it."

"I have everything in hand, do I?"

Greg barked a laugh. "Figure of speech, mate."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Numpty."

Mycroft hesitated, but Greg pulled him along, leaving Jim and John alone.

The doctor thought about what it meant that Moriarty didn't remember the things he had done. Maybe it was time he really tried to think of him as Ozzy and call him that most of the time.

Jim was sleeping soundly when Sherlock came in an hour later. 

"Sherlock? Where have you been?"

"Like I said. Out."

The detective carried a wrapped package under his arm. He took two strides towards Jim, but stopped when he saw he was sleeping and set the package down on the coffee table.

"You can wake him up, little brother."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft who was sat at the table with Greg, playing draughts. 

"If he's asleep, he can sleep. It's nothing important."

John went over and sat in Sherlock's lap. "Ozzy's been asleep since shortly after you left."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, he's not really that other person any more," the doctor said with a shrug. "What's in the package?"

Sherlock smirked. 

"It'll help him… be a puppy."

"A dog will be hard enough… a clever dog even worse. You want us to have a clever puppy?"

"Why not?" Mycroft called over. "You've lived with Sherlock for years."

The detective flailed, trying to turn around and say something scathing to his brother, but John captured his mouth with his own and kissed him until he forgot what his brother had said.

When John paused for breath, he realised something blatantly obvious. "You just insulted yourself and praised your brother at the same time."

Mycroft glared at him. "No, I didn't."

"You called him a dog. Since you're his brother, that makes you a dog. Not only that, you called him clever."

Mycroft looked like he had swallowed a toad. In fact, he looked so ridiculous that Greg burst out laughing.

In the corner, Jim roused and climbed to his knees, bleary eyed. "Master!" He beamed at the sight of Sherlock. 

"Hello, boy. You weren't asleep long."

Jim cautiously began crawling forward. When he wasn't immediately rebuked he scrambled across the rest of the room until he was at Sherlock's side.

"John, would you hand me the package I brought home?"

The doctor stood up and fetched it, handing it to his boyfriend who, in turn, handed it to Jim.

"This is a present for you. Go ahead and open it,” Sherlock told the Irishman. 

Jim dropped it, backing away. 

"Boy," Sherlock growled. "Come here." Once Jim had got within range again, Sherlock picked it up, "Open it. I promise you, it's nothing bad."

Hesitantly, Moriarty pulled at the paper, wincing when it ripped.

"Go ahead. Rip the paper all you want."

At that, Jim pulled the paper off and revealed an orange plush dinosaur. Tears filling his eyes, he hugged it to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Sherlock reached down and brought Jim's head to his knee. "You can stay there as long as you like."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

John looked on. He didn't think he'd ever seen a grown man quite so thankful for such a small gift in his life. As he watched, Jim, no Ozzy, kept petting and hugging it, showing no sign of stopping.

Sherlock found himself feeling guilty, but he couldn't. Jim had deserved this reduction. It was Ozzy who didn't deserve to be treated like dirt.

Slowly, Ozzy's eyes drifted shut, the dinosaur clutched tightly in his grip. John got up and fetched his blanket, draping it around his shoulders. "You're stuck there a while, babe," he told Sherlock.

"You'd best get me a cup of tea then."

John chuckled. "Alright. Do you boys want one?"

"I am not a boy," Mycroft complained immediately. "I'm older than you."

"And the moment you act like it while around your brother, I won't call you a boy," John shot back with a grin. He filled the kettle and turned it on.

"He's just like Mummy!" Mycroft exclaimed indignantly. 

"He's far worse than that."

"I heard that!" John called out from the kitchen.

"Myc, are you joining me in the shower or not?" Greg asked, his voice hopeful.

"No tea for us, John," the government official said as he stood and joined his boyfriend, "at least not right now."

While Sherlock was alone in the room with only Ozzy for company he stared down and watched the sleeping man. It was nowhere near as beautiful as watching John sleep.

"You look deep in thought," John told his boyfriend.

"I was thinking about how beautiful you are when you sleep." Sherlock smiled at John, then looked down at Jim. "There's no comparison. I could watch you sleep all night. I have done on numerous occasions."

The doctor placed his mug on the table. "I made one for him too. Only half a cup though."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll let him sleep a little longer."

John sat down in his chair and looked at Jim. "We need to give him his own space. I know he sleeps in our room most nights, but I don't think we should put him down in C just because we decide to get intimate."

"I'm not going to trust him in here alone, John. It's different in C, there's 3 locked doors to get through. Here he could just walk straight out. I'll talk to Mycroft. Maybe a large dog cage in that space over there," he jerked his head in the corner. "Bolt it down, he couldn't go anywhere in that."

John nodded slowly. "Okay... As long as it's big enough." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm worried about him."

Sherlock smirked slightly. "You're not. You're worried about me."

"Explain, Mr. Holmes," John demanded pacing across the room and sitting on his knee. 

"I got mad with you last night because of him. Realising I was right, you just don't want to upset me."

"I suppose." John pulled a doubtful face. "I don't know, I'm sure you're right as far as it goes. I know better than to argue with you."

Sherlock snorted.

"Most of the time, I do. I just think there's something more to it. I mean, look at him. That's not an act."

"No. It's not. It was to begin with. But this is what we were aiming for, John. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting it to be this thorough. I wasn't expecting him to forget everything up until 6 months ago."

"It's for the best, don't you think?" The blanket slipped from Ozzy's shoulders and John got up to put it back in place. "Try as I might, I can't think of safe ways to keep him entertained."

Sherlock hummed, watching Jim again. "Well…"

"What?"

"Apart from buggering me into the mattress, how do you keep me entertained?"

"I'm not giving him body parts to experiment on. We've decided the telly isn't a good idea. I don't think books are good either. I just don't know."

"Why aren't books?"

John shrugged again. "I don't know."

"You aren't any good at this, are you?"

"Be honest, how many criminal masterminds have we caught before?"

"Seeing as there's only one…"

"It's just... What if he reads something with a villain and decides to emulate him."

The detective chuckled. "We control what he reads, John. We don't let him read anything with criminal masterminds."

"The dictionary."

"I'm not making him read the dictionary."

John laughed. "London a-z?"

"Nor that!"

"Harry Potter is right out. Goodnight Moon might be safe."

"Goodnight moon?"

"It's a toddler's board book."

"Treasure island!"

John laughed. "I'm assuming you like that book."

"Mycroft read it to me every night for about 6 months."

"Are you going to read it to him? That could be a good bonding thing."

Sherlock looked down at him. "Maybe we could read it to him together."

"I can't believe we're discussing this like he's a child we've adopted."

"He's not. He's a highly intelligent dog."

"What happens when we want to go out, just the two of us?"

"Mycroft and Greg can watch him."

John shook his head. "No, I mean if they are busy." 

"I'm sure one of Mycroft's minions can puppy sit. I don't want to leave him with Hudders."

Sherlock leant forward and shook their slave. He jerked awake immediately. 

"Master? Sorry, Master."

"Position 1, Ozzy," Sherlock ordered, but not as harshly as he had been.

Ozzy bit down on his dinosaur's neck to hold it, then he assumed the position, his back straight and his hands behind his head.

"Drop it."

He let the toy fall to the floor with a whimper. 

Sherlock shook his head slightly and then reached over for the half mug of tea.

He held it to Ozzy's lips. "Go ahead and drink it. You can have the dinosaur back when you're done."

The kneeling man stared at the mug worriedly. Sherlock sighed and pulled his hands over his head. "Take it."

Slowly, Moriarty took the mug. "Thank you, Master," he said softly. The whole time he drank his tea, his eyes were on his plush dinosaur. When he had finished, he looked up at Sherlock and asked, "What's his name, Master?"

Sherlock frowned, glancing at John. "What's he talking about?"

"The toy?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It hasn't got a name."

Jim frowned, still holding the empty mug. "He needs a name, Master. It doesn't seem right for him not to have a name."

Sherlock blinked dumbly. It was a toy… "Go ahead, boy and name it. I'm really not bothered."

"Can I name him Scott, Master?" Jim asked shyly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Why that name?"

"I want to name him after you."

Sherlock shook his head. "I really don't like that name. It's why I use Sherlock."

"Billy."

The detective smirked. "Alright."

Sherlock leant forward and took the empty mug from Jim, no, Ozzy. He had to start thinking of him by that name.

Ozzy picked up Billy and hugged him to his chest once again. "Billy, you have to be good. It's very important."

Sherlock frowned, but didn't say anything. He didn't think it was right his slave talking to his cuddly toy.

John saw his frown and got up to stand beside him. "You can call him our dog all you want, but it's definitely like he's regressed to childhood."

The detective watched him for a long time. "That's not right," Sherlock argued. "Not right at all."

"Babe, children talk to their toys, especially their plush toys, all the time. Let him. Billy can be his friend," John urged.

"I don't want him to be a child!" Sherlock hissed. "He shouldn't be a child!"

"You bought him a toy, Sherlock!" 

"And you two are arguing. Again!" Mycroft appeared at the door.

John and even Sherlock managed to look guilty as they looked at Jim who had curled up on his bed in the corner with his toy.

Sherlock closed his eyes and fell back into the chair properly. He clapped his hands. He needed to turn Ozzy into a more adult slave/dog. This wouldn't work. He was regretting that toy, but couldn't just take it off him now. That wouldn't be right. 

"Mycroft, is there anything he can help you with?"

"Master," Ozzy whimpered. "Please, no. I'm sorry, Master-"

"Boy, enough!" Sherlock snapped. "I meant with me."

"I don't have any cases as such, no; however, I do have a couple of ciphers my best people haven't been able to break." Mycroft thought for a moment. Yes, he was fairly sure they had nothing to do with Jim. They should be safe enough for him to look at.

"Ok."

"I'll have Anthea drop them round." Mycroft shot off a few text messages and then settled himself down on the sofa.

Ozzy absently chewed on the dinosaur's tail. He looked from Sherlock to Mycroft nervously, not sure about this development. He was good at ciphers, at least he thought he was. He couldn't quite remember.

"Ozzy, why are you in the corner?"

He shrugged. "You were angry, Master."

Sherlock sighed. "And? Get back over here."

Ozzy held the dinosaur in his mouth by its tail and crawled over to his master on all fours. Once there, he kneeled up and took his toy in his hand.

Mycroft leaned forward and snatched it off him. "What did you get him this thing for?"

"I'm not always going to be here, Mycroft, and you've seen what he's like when I'm not."

It was John who snatched the toy back and gave it back to Ozzy. "You don't take his toy, Mycroft. Not unless he's being punished." It had been the captain speaking, not Doctor Watson.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Of course, John."

"What is Greg doing?"

"Getting ready for work. He thinks if he goes in now he can get out earlier."

"Wrong," Sherlock said, petting Ozzy's hair.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"He won't be able to clear his case load. He'll be convinced to work late."

"Gregson's a prick," Greg complained coming into the room. "We all know that. I could take Ozzy with me."

"Not alone you won't," Mycroft argued immediately.

"No, I'll go with you, Lestrade," Sherlock said, stretching as he stood.

"Really?" John and Greg said together.

"Yup. Ozzy can stay here with John and work on those cyphers when Anthea arrives with them."

Sherlock watched his slave carefully. 

"Make John happy, boy, and you'll make me happy too."

"Yes, Master," he whispered.

Mycroft got up and kissed his boyfriend. "I know you and I know my brother's right, but call me now and again. That way you'll have to stop long enough to talk."

"You're one to talk," Greg said, with a smile.

Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom. He came back with his coat and Ozzy's leash. He snapped it onto his collar and threw the handle to John. 

"See you later," he bent down to peck John on the nose and paused for a split second to ruffle Ozzy's hair on his way out after the DI.

Ozzy crawled over to John. He didn't wrap himself around the doctor's leg, but he knelt nearby.

"I see your attitude has changed, John. You seem to be more of a mind with my brother."

John stared at the door where the pair had gone. 

"He's not a threat to anything let alone anyone. He's cuddling a fluffy dinosaur for Christ sake."

Ozzy seemed to be trying to hide from Mycroft by edging closer to John. The doctor placed his head on the poor man's head. Just as he was about to say something, Anthea knocked on the door and came in.

Ozzy's head snapped up and he tried jerking away from John. 

The glare that Mycroft shot the doctor's way told him he couldn't let that slide. 

"Enough, boy!" He barked. 

Anthea seemed unfazed. 

"Apologise," the blond ordered.

Jim ducked his head. "I'm sorry, miss." He hugged his dinosaur tightly, seeming to get some courage from it.

Anthea handed Mycroft two folders. "Do you require anything else, sir?"

"If I do, I will let you know. Thank you."

"Not at all, Mr. Holmes," she inclined her head and pulled her phone from her pocket as she turned on her heel. 

Mycroft glared at the kneeling man when his PA had left. "Do not ever treat guests like that again, boy!"

Ozzy looked at John, hoping that he would say something in his defence, but the doctor glared at him.

"You're lucky I don't hold Billy whilst Mycroft takes you down stairs for a bit of correction."

The slave cowered at John's feet. "I'm sorry, sir. Sirs. Really sorry."

That wasn't what stopped Mycroft from grabbing him and dragging him away. What stopped him was the fact he held his dinosaur up for John to take if he so wished.

John took Billy for just a moment and looked at it, then he gave it back to Ozzy. "I'm not taking this away from you. Just remember how to behave when guests arrive. From now on, you immediately assume position 1."

"Yes, sir."

"Or position 3 if you can't get into position 1," Mycroft added. 

"Yes, sir," Ozzy repeated, staring at the floor while Billy dangled from his tail.

Mycroft opened a file and spread the contents out so that they were facing in Ozzy's direction. He cleared his throat and called him over. "Ozzy. Come examine these papers. They're written in a cypher. It's your task to tell me what they really say."

He glanced up at John first and the doctor nodded. 

With the blond's consent, Ozzy crawled across the room, Billy's tail in his mouth. 

He wondered why Mycroft couldn't work them out as he cautiously reached out and switched a few pages to change the order.

Ozzy looked up and took Billy from his mouth. He glanced at John, then screwed up his courage. "Sir, may I have some paper and a pencil so I can write out what it says?" he asked Mycroft.

Mycroft thought for a moment, then inclined his head. He hadn't been expecting the slave to be so… calm so close to him. It seemed he was learning. 

Ozzy looked up when he saw John holding out his old notebook and pencil.

He took it and started writing at a furious pace. He didn't pause until he had written out all the hidden information. When he finished, he set the pencil aside, picked up the papers and, with only slight hesitation, passed them to Mycroft.

The government official smirked, nodding appreciatively. 

"It seems you do have some uses, boy."

Ozzy cowered back at John's feet. 

"Did you understand the message?" Mycroft snapped having read the first few lines.

With a nervous nod, Ozzy said, "Yes, sir. It's bad. Master wouldn't like it." He picked up Billy and hugged him to his chest, hoping he wasn't in trouble.

Mycroft read over what he had translated. 

"Do not repeat this, boy. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mycroft?" John didn't like the look on his face. 

"Tie that in the corner then come downstairs," Mycroft got to his feet. "We need to talk."

The doctor tied Ozzy in the corner and patted him on the head. "Try to get some rest. We'll be right back." He followed Mycroft from the flat down to C. They stayed in the hall, by the stairs out of B. Neither planning to leave the slave in the flat with a chance at the door. 

"What is it?"

"Has Sherlock ever mentioned to you about Moriarty's network?"

John's face darkened immediately. "Enough to know I don't like where this is going." Without even knowing it, he had stood ramrod straight and his chin jutted forward.

Mycroft smirked at John's immediate protective stance. 

"It's something Moriarty had been building up around the world. How he managed to get people relocated to Columbia and such. They've noticed their boss is missing."

"It's taken them long enough."

"No. It hasn't. It's taken my cryptographers too long to decipher this." He waved the paper.

"Who do they blame?" John asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

"I can see you've already guessed. My brother."

"They aren't wrong."

"No. But that's not the point. If they come here and find him…"

"Shit."

"Quite, Doctor Watson, we'll relocate to my club for now. Go and pack some things for you and Sherlock. And put some clothes on Ozzy."

John nodded once and bounced up the stars. 

Mycroft began tapping away at his phone trying to get back in contact with Anthea.

After he had packed everything for himself and Sherlock, he looked over and grabbed Ozzy's blanket. It would be something familiar for him to have at the club. Next he grabbed the clothes he had left out for Ozzy and took them through to the living room.

He dropped them in front of him, removed the chains and took Billy. 

"Get dressed, boy."

The doctor watched as he got himself into the clothes, keeping his eye on the plush dinosaur the whole time.

"A car will be here to pick us up in five minutes," Mycroft said as he stepped back into the living room. He shoved his phone in his pocket. "Sherlock's ignoring my calls and texts. If you would be so good, perhaps he won't ignore you?"

John smirked, but he was too busy with Ozzy. He pulled his phone from his pocket and threw it in the government official's direction. 

"You phone him from my phone." He turned to the kneeling man. "We're going somewhere, like we did once before. You're going to have to stand up and walk to the car. You can bring Billy with you," John said at the worried look on Ozzy's face.

"Wh-" Ozzy cut himself off.

"Go ahead, ask."

"What about Master?"

John glanced at Mycroft who had finally managed to contact his baby brother. 

"He'll meet us there."

"Sir-"

"Yeah?" John stood up, pulling Ozzy up with him. 

"What about Mr. Lestrade?"

The doctor looked over at Mycroft, wondering the answer to that question himself.

"Gregory will meet us there as well. He's on loan to the home office, as it were." Mycroft wasn't going to leave his boyfriend unprotected. Besides, he would be useful.

"Does Greg get a choice in that?"

Mycroft didn't respond. 

"He's only just gone back to the Yard."

"And he'll be a part of my team until this threat is vanquished."

"Car's here," John said, looking out the window. "Come on, boy." He took Ozzy by the arm and guided him out of the flat and down the stairs.

He pushed him out the door ahead so it wouldn't look odd. He had John's clothes on, so no one would notice his old bespoke suit if anyone was watching.


	16. Chapter 16

The car had tinted windows, so once inside, John pressed Ozzy into the floor. "You can kneel there for the ride to the club."

"Yes, sir." He bowed his head and kept quiet.

John dropped the dinosaur to the floor and Ozzy immediately picked him up, hugging him to his chest. 

"How exactly are we going to… vanquish this threat?" John grumbled in Mycroft's direction.

"Very carefully, piece by piece." The government official looked at Ozzy. "He may well be instrumental in stopping Moran. The knowledge he must have about him- Unless, of course, this situation undoes everything that has been accomplished and reawakens his old self."

"Is that likely?"

Mycroft shrugged, something that was very uncharacteristic about the older man. 

John pushed his hand in Ozzy's hair. "Ozzy, do you remember Moran?"

The kneeling man looked up. "Who, sir?"

"Sebastian Moran."

Ozzy frowned.

"He wants to hurt Sherlock," John explained.

A fire lit in Ozzy's eyes. "We won't let him, sir."

"Do you know him?"

"No, sir."

John frowned. "Well that answered that question. And yes, boy, we won't let him."

The former consulting criminal seemed to calm at John's words. He seemed to trust him and took him at his word.

"I still don't like this," John fretted. "I won't be happy until Sherlock is safe inside the club."

"He'll be fine," Mycroft replied, tapping away at his phone. 

"Yeah," John kept running his hand through Ozzy's hair. It was more to soothe himself than their dog.

Ozzy picked up on the doctor's nervous state and began chewing on the dinosaur's tail. To make matters worse, he could tell that Master's brother wasn't as calm as he appeared to be. He didn't like it when Mycroft wasn't calm. He always ended up in trouble. 

It wasn't much longer when the car pulled up outside the club. Sherlock and Greg were stood at the door, the younger of the two men looking mightily pissed off.

"What is going on, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked bitingly. "I was making progress. This had better be good." He stared when John and Ozzy got out of the car.

"I'll explain, brother-mine, but only once we're safely inside."

When they were out of view from the outside world, Sherlock snapped a leash onto Ozzy's collar and pushed him to his knees.

The former consulting criminal didn't resist. He waited until his master sat, then kneeled up next to him, hugging his dinosaur.

"Okay, Mycroft, talk," Sherlock ordered, his arms crossed over his chest. Ozzy shouldn't have been kneeling in John's clothes but Sherlock wasn't bothered at that exact moment. He wouldn't hesitate to remind him if he did it again later. 

Ozzy flinched at the detective's tone, but Sherlock ignored him. 

Mycroft threw the papers that Sherlock's pet had translated across the table. 

"What's these?"

"What he deciphered earlier."

The detective's eyes flew over the papers as he absorbed the data. His mouth was set in a grim line as he tossed the papers on a nearby table. Hands folded beneath his chin, he asked, "What extra protection have you put on John?"

John dropped in the seat next to him. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"It's who I'm worried about. Mycroft?"

"You'll both have a security detail 24/7. You'll both stay here with that, I'll have a cage fitted for it in your room for if you go out. John, I would request you decline all offers of work at the surgery in the meantime."

"I'm not taking my eye off Sherlock. I'll phone in and have myself removed from the on call list." John pulled out his phone, stepped to a quiet corner of the room and did just that.

Sherlock watched him, but found himself distracted by the kneeling consulting criminal. 

"What do you know about this plot?" Sherlock snarled, shoving his hand into Ozzy's hair. 

"Nothing, Master," he whimpered.

The detective used Ozzy's hair to tilt his head back so he could look him in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I promise, Master." Tears welled in the former consulting criminal's eyes. "I don't want them to hurt you, Master."

Satisfied, Sherlock released his grip on Ozzy's hair and petted it smooth.

John watched the pair of them closely. 

"He doesn't know anything," John said. "Mycroft's already been there, and I highly doubt he'd lie to him."

"Is that right, boy? Would you lie to my big brother?"

"No, Master."

Ozzy had dropped his dinosaur. The detective bent over, picked it up and handed it back to him. "Do you think you can help us, then, boy? Do you want to try?"

"Yes, please, Master. I want you safe."

Sherlock's eyes darted to his boyfriend. "He really means that."

"He does," the doctor agreed.

"You've got a plan, Mycroft?"

"Divide and conquer. You and... Ozzy work to identify the individuals involved. I'll have my people start tracking down Moran and I'll see to security. Use Gregory and John as you see fit. And, Sherlock, don't go off on your own."

The detective had stood up by this point. "I wasn't going to."

"Don't lie, babe," John got to his feet. "But Mycroft, I would much rather he didn't leave the club. Can you have possibly helpful stuff brought here?"

"Laptops, notebooks, all the things my brother likes to use are on their way here. Anthea is bringing them. If you have any special requests, baby brother, now is the time to speak up."

Sherlock just shrugged. "Only that he doesn't leave my sight."

Mycroft inclined his head. "That won't happen."

Ozzy had moved closer to Sherlock, so close that he was pressed up against his leg. The detective gave him an absent pat on the head, then began searching for information on his phone. His laptop couldn't get there fast enough.

"I want an office, Mycroft." 

The government official rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

"Well?"

"I'll have one arranged, little brother. Do you want a slave, too, while we're at it?"

Sherlock laughed and dropped his hand back in Ozzy's hair. "I've got one."

Mycroft had an office set up for his brother within minutes. It wasn't long before Anthea had arrived with Sherlock's things. Now armed with the tools of his trade, the detective set about creating his crime wall, pinning up what limited information they had already attained.

John came in after a few moments and placed three mugs of coffee on the table. He passed one down to the Irishman.

Ozzy blinked up at him, surprised.

"John, have Ozzy look at this." He handed the doctor some scribbled notes he had made whilst researching on his laptop. "See if it means anything to him."

John collapsed in the armchair, he had watched Mycroft's men drag in. 

"Ozzy, here." 

He awkwardly shuffled across the room on his knees, careful to not spill his coffee.

At John's side, Ozzy set down both the coffee and his dinosaur so he could take the paper in his hand. As he read what was written on it, his hands began to tremble so violently that the paper shook. "These are bad places with bad people.” His voice had barely been above a whisper. 

"Sherlock!" John yelled across the room. 

The detective turned and saw his dog trembling on the floor. "What is it?"

"He said these are bad places with bad people." John shrugged. "That's about it other than his reaction."

Sherlock sat on the floor next to Ozzy. "Can you tell me anything about them? It's very important."

"I'm sorry, Master, I don't know."

"What? You said they were bad people."

"They want to hurt you, Master… bad people."

"And the bad places?"

"I don't know." Ozzy started rocking back and forth, in obvious distress.

"It's okay," Sherlock soothed him. There had to be a way to utilise Ozzy's incredible mind, despite what he had forgotten. "Have John look up information for you on his laptop. See if you can determine how these locations are connected."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock got back to his feet and wandered back to his board. His eyes darted from left to right as he tried to take in as much information as possible.

John started to say something, but the detective's hands flew up to either side of his head. The doctor knew that gesture all to well. Sherlock had just plunged into his Mind Palace. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Ozzy. "Ok, boy. Where do we start?"

Ozzy reread all the information he had available to him before deciding on 3 locations. "This one, sir."

John frowned. "I know that one without Google. That's round the back of Barts hospital."

The next one he identified was on Baker Street. The third was near Mycroft's home.

John didn't like the obvious implications. "They're using these as hideouts and for surveillance?"

"That would be my guess, sir."

"John, have you got Chiswick Street on there?"

Before John could check, Ozzy answered. "Yes, Master. But I don't know that one."

Mycroft entered the office. "I've sent you what surveillance we have managed to get from old CCTV footage on Moran. Do you have locations for me to watch?"

"We've got a few," John offered sipping his coffee, while passing Ozzy his again. "They've set up camps around us. There's one at Barts. One on your road and one in Baker Street."

"Chiswick Street is what we need to watch. All of Moran's minions have been seen coming and going from there for weeks."

"I'll post surveillance on all four sites and I'll move my men in, discretely, in case we get the chance to take them down." Mycroft gave them a nod and left for his own office.

"It can't be that easy," John pointed out. "He's been missing for months," he jerked his head in Ozzy's direction. 

"Well maybe the hard part was the cipher?" Sherlock shrugged and went back to his wall.

Ozzy turned a puzzled face to John. "Sir, who would care about me? I'm not anything." He groped for his dinosaur without looking away from the doctor and, finding it, hugged it to his chest.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

"It's for speaking, John, not miming gold fish," Sherlock called over his shoulder without turning around.

Greg felt like he was completely useless. He'd be better off with Mycroft's teams, performing surveillance.

"What are the chances of Myc letting me out of here?"

John looked up from the armchair to where Greg had appeared at the door. Then he laughed. "Probably none, mate."

Greg sighed and dropped down to a convenient pouffe. "Bored!" He yelled.

John laughed, earning them both a glare from Sherlock. "Greg, you've been spending too much time with Himself." He jerked his head towards the detective.

"Don't care. Sherlock, give me something to do right now."

"No."

"Now!" The DI demanded. "I'm not completely useless."

Sherlock flounced around to face Greg, rolling his eyes. "Pester Mycroft. Get his surveillance team to give you names to investigate. Bully him into doing it if you have to, but let me think."

Greg actually snickered. "I suppose you have an idea what you put John through every other day now."

"It was everyday," John argued. "But not since he's got his new toy."

Ozzy didn't seem to hear them talking about him. He just drank his coffee and stared at the crime wall Sherlock was putting together. He seemed fascinated by the process.

Sherlock just winked, then went back to ignoring everything else in the room. 

John rolled his eyes. "You finished with that coffee yet, boy?"

"No, sir," Ozzy's head snapped up. "Sorry, sir."

John sighed as he watched Greg go. "It's fine, boy." This was the part of cases that he hated, the waiting part. He'd provide whatever help he could with research, but that was really Sherlock's forte.

"Sir…"

"What?"

"I need the toilet, sir, I'm sorry."

John sighed. "Fine. Come on then."

Ozzy started to crawl behind John, but the doctor turned around and gestured for him to stand. "I think you've earned the right to walk to the bathroom. It's this way."

The detective watched them leave, a smirk hidden on his face. John was learning to see what he saw in the old Jim Moriarty. He was an asset. A tool. That was what all this was about, nothing else.

John felt a bit silly playing babysitter whilst Ozzy used the loo, but it had to be done. He gave him as much privacy as he could, offering to hold his dinosaur whilst the former consulting criminal saw to his body's needs

Ozzy appeared a few minutes later slightly sheepish. 

"Come on, boy, back with Sherlock."

Ozzy waited until John had given him his dinosaur then he walked as fast as he could towards the room his master occupied.

He looked around it as if searching for danger, then, finding none, knelt close to his master. The developing crime scene wall had his full attention again.

"Get up," Sherlock ordered. 

"Master-"

"Now, boy."

Ozzy scrambled to his feet, head low. 

"You know I don't like you kneeling when you are in John's clothes." It was delayed, but Sherlock needed to remind him. 

"Oh." Ozzy looked down at himself. He'd forgotten he was wearing them. He bit his lip wanting to ask a question.

"No, you may not take them off," Sherlock said as he moved an item from one location on the wall to another. "You'll have to make do with sitting in a chair, boy."

"But, Master-"

Sherlock spun on his toe and glared at him. "Since when did you think it was a good idea to keep arguing with me, boy?!"

"Sorry, Master." Ozzy bit the dinosaur's tail and looked around helplessly until John pointed him to a chair, then he sat.

Sherlock stared at Ozzy for a moment. "John, confiscate the dinosaur."

"Master, please-" he immediately tried to beg, but Sherlock glared him down. 

"Enough, boy!" He barked. 

John snatched the dinosaur off him and Ozzy actually looked like he was about to burst into tears; it had the desired effect then. 

Sherlock went back to his board and set the timer on his phone for an hour. 

When the hour passed, he glanced at John who understood immediately and threw the dinosaur back at the slave. 

"Do not argue with me again!"

"Yes, Master," Ozzy whispered. He bit his lower lip, wanting to be helpful, but not knowing how he could help Master. He decided it would be best just to be quiet.

Sherlock watched the slave for a moment before turning his attention back to the board. 

John continued to watch Ozzy for a long while after Sherlock's attention had moved elsewhere.

The doctor was getting bored, just as bored as Ozzy had to be. "Look, Sherlock, isn't there anything," he threw his arms wide, "that I can be doing or should I just twiddle my thumbs?"

Sherlock turned around. "There isn't really much we can be doing now. Mycroft's dealing with the surveillance. We could work on that case Greg has. We just have to do it from here."

"Right." John looked through the piles of stuff Anthea had brought them until he found the case file that Greg had given them earlier, then he sat back and started reading it. Anything was better than sitting there feeling useless.

"There should be another copy. Ozzy, start reading."

"Yes, Master."

Ozzy was glad he finally had something to occupy himself with that didn't involve upsetting Sherlock.

Without realizing he was doing it, Ozzy pulled his legs up into the chair so he was effectively kneeling on it.

John noticed his restless movement. "No, boy. Sit in the chair properly with your feet on the floor."

It was obvious that Ozzy was uncomfortable doing things that a 'human' would do. It meant he understood his position, but he needed to act like a human out of the confines of Baker Street.

Ozzy glanced from his folder to Sherlock's crime wall, his thoughts unreadable, then he turned and started laying out the contents of his folder on a nearby table much as his master was doing with his wall.

John watched, wondering why Ozzy was copying Sherlock. He must have done things in his own way with all the crimes he had participated in and conducted. And then it hit him square in the face - Ozzy didn't remember much if anything before 6 months ago.

He was teaching himself and he was teaching himself to think like Sherlock. Was that a good thing or a very bad thing? "Sherlock, I think I need to speak with you. Alone."

The detective sighed heavily. "What now? You're in a real mood."

John growled, got to his feet and dragged Sherlock by the sleeve out into the corridor, where they could still see Ozzy.

"He's emulating you. With the case file." John glanced back at Ozzy. "He's set up a miniature crime wall, only on that little table. He's learning how you think!"

"Isn't that the point, to train him to be useful?"

"But what if he goes back the way he was. He'd know everything about how you work, how you think."

"John, he is well and truly broken."

"But what if he does-"

"John, he can't even remember 'before'."

The doctor shifted from foot to foot. "Alright, but if you're wrong, I won't let him hurt you. That's my promise. And that's the last thing I'll say on the matter." He grabbed Sherlock suddenly and kissed him fiercely. "I love you. Never forget that." With that, John went back into the office.

Sherlock stared after him for a moment. He was so lost in what John had just said he didn't notice his brother walking up behind him.

"Brother dear, I have more intel for you," Mycroft said without looking up from freshly printed papers.

It was just as well he didn't look up as it saved Sherlock being embarrassed when he started at his brother's intrusion on his thoughts. The detective covered his discomfort with a snapped, "Hand it over then," and held his hand out in an imperious manner.

That made Mycroft look up. He frowned. "Sherlock, why are you stood like a numpty in an empty corridor?"

"John's fault," he said, snatching the papers away and stalking into the office. He didn't need this now, he needed to concentrate.

"My, how your mood has deteriorated," the government official observed as he leant against the doorframe.

"Shut up."

"No, Sherlock, grow up. You are not a child, please act like an adult."

"Go. Away."

"How about you don't set a bad example for your dog, little brother?"

The detective looked over his shoulder to where Ozzy was watching him. As soon as the man noticed, he dropped his eyes back to the tableau he had made on the table and examined it studiously.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mycroft," Sherlock said in a begrudging tone.

"You do that."

The government official folded his arms across his chest and watched as his brother read the details. 

"All of the three buildings you checked were empty?"

Mycroft inclined his head. 

"Then you've got a spy in your security."

"That was my conclusion as well." Mycroft tugged on his jacket, straightening it. "I simply loathe traitors." He voice had gone cold. "Whoever it is had best be clever enough to run before we identify them."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I have an idea. But it's risky."

Mycroft let his eyebrows raise. "Aren’t all your ideas risky?"

Sherlock glared at him. "I'll walk around the club with Ozzy. You watch on the CCTV to see if anyone makes a move or steps back to make a phone call."

"Ah," Mycroft intoned. "I see. Allow me five minutes to bring up the proper feeds, then start your walk."

"What? No lecture about danger."

"You're well aware of it already, little brother. You need no further caution from me."

"Danger?” John asked. “You aren't to leave the club, Sherlock. Do you hear me?"

The detective nodded. "Get on your feet, boy," he ordered Ozzy. 

"They are unlikely to make a move towards you, Sherlock. It would give the game away. But they are likely to try and make contact with the outside world subtly."

John had stood. "I might as well go with you, Mycroft. That is, if I'm allowed."

"Certainly, John. An extra pair of eyes on the feeds will be most welcome." 

The four of them moved towards the door, then peeled off in pairs once they were through it.

As soon as Ozzy was on his own with Sherlock he didn't know how to react. He didn't know whether to be happy he was with his master, or nervous because Sherlock still seemed mad with him. 

"I'm sorry, Master."

Sherlock frowned, distracted. "You haven't done anything wrong." He took Ozzy's hand in his own. "We're just going for a walk. If you see any... bad men, tell me, but tell me quietly and don't make a fuss."

"Yes, Master."

John settled himself in the chair behind one of the screens. 

"How fool proof is this plan?"

Mycroft inclined his head. "Sherlock's in no risk, John. No one would be stupid enough to attack him alone in my club."

John couldn't tear his eyes off the feed that showed him Sherlock and Ozzy. As they moved out of range of one camera into the next, the tracking software handled the transition smoothly, always keeping them on screen.

Mycroft, however, was watching the reactions of those both immediately around his brother and Ozzy and those working behind the screen at the intelligence centre.

It was a matter of seconds for Mycroft to know who it was. The man on the far right behind the desk had slipped a phone from his pocket and was typing quickly under the desk. Something completely against the security of the club. 

Mycroft nudged John with his elbow and the doctor saw who it was immediately. He nodded once.

Typing a text, the doctor let Sherlock know they'd found their man. He and Mycroft merely monitored the situation until the detective and Ozzy joined them in Mycroft's office.

"Now what, brother mine?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh that's simple," Mycroft nodded once towards John and he doctor stepped up behind the traitor. 

He reached out with a fist and grabbed an unrespecting man by the scruff of his neck. He dragged him to his feet so forcefully his chair fell over.

A guard rushed over.

"Take this man down to a holding cell. Make him comfortable," Mycroft ordered. "We'll be down shortly to speak with him. I'm sure by then he'll be delighted to talk with us."

"Yes, sir," the guard said as he took custody of the man, cuffed him and led him from the room.

Mycroft turned his attention on Ozzy. "Do you know that man?"

"No, sir," the Irishman's head was bowed low. 

"You don't recognise him at all?"

"No, sir," Ozzy repeated, he'd started and intermittent tremor through sheer fear.

Sherlock rested a hand on the back of Ozzy's neck. "It's ok if you don't know him." He looked over at John. "I don't think Ozzy should be there when we interrogate the spy. Would you take him back to our office and watch him, John. Try to calm him down?"

John frowned, "I don't want to leave you alone."

"The cage should be fitted in your rooms by now," Mycroft pointed out. "Why don't you both 'calm him down' then lock him in there. The traitor could do with stewing a bit."

John gave a nod. He didn't want to miss out on the interrogation anyway.

"Alright," the detective agreed. He guided Ozzy back to their office where, sure enough, the cage waited. "Boy, get your dinosaur and get in the cage. It has a bed in it, so you can get a nap."

John noticed the cage had been securely bolted down, and it locked with two padlocks. He also noticed a double bed had been placed in the opposite corner. 

"Actually, boy," Sherlock collapsed in the armchair. "John would you get us some drinks. Ozzy, undress, come kneel at my feet."

The doctor, surprised, did as his boyfriend requested, pouring them both a scotch and a water for Ozzy.

The former consulting criminal scrambled to get out of his clothes, though he treated them with respect and folded them neatly. They did belong to John, after all. Once naked, he threw himself down at his master's feet, grateful to be there.

Sherlock reached down and used his hair to pull him out of the ball he had tucked himself into. "Drink this," he ordered pushing the glass of water into his hands.

Ozzy looked at the water for a moment, then began drinking it.

It occurred to Sherlock he could probably give him anything at all and the man would drink it, even poison. Ozzy had that much trust in him. It was a strange realisation.

Sherlock sipped on his scotch. "Mycroft's right. We'll give the spy time to stew before we talk to him." He glanced over at the wall where he had pinned everything. "I want everything he knows, as little as that's likely to be."

"Why is it likely to be little?"

Sherlock inclined his head. "He certainly didn't tell anyone anything. Except Moran. I doubt he would tell people similar things."

"Still, a contact number could prove valuable. Maybe it can even be traced," John said hopefully.

"Moran may not be as smart as... He may not be a genius, but surely he'll be intelligent enough to hide his tracks and use an untraceable number." Sherlock finished his scotch. "Shall we find out?"

John shook his head and reached over for the scotch bottle. 

"I thought we were letting him stew?"

Sherlock smirked. "Fair enough."

He let John refill his glass, then swirled it around absently before finally sipping it. "If you're through with your water, Ozzy, set your glass down over there." He pointed with his foot to the nearby table.

Ozzy stared at the glass and reached out to do as he was told. 

"I said only if you were finished with it, boy."

"Yes, Master," he quickly sipped at it again.

Ozzy wondered why he had had to walk around this strange place with his master, but he didn't dare ask. He felt like he should be doing something, anything, to keep his master safe, but he didn't know what. It was all very confusing.

When he heard his master sigh heavily, he thought he finally might get to go and lie down. 

"In the cage, boy, John and I have things to do. There's a water bottle in there like your one at home."

"Yes, Master," he immediately crawled to the cage.

Ozzy curled up with his dinosaur and didn't even blink at being locked into the cage.

Together, Sherlock and John went and found Mycroft. "We're ready," the detective announced.

Mycroft looked up from where he was sat on the DI's lap. "Don't you knock?"

Sherlock snorted, turned on his heel and began to walk in the direction of the cells. 

Before joining him, John gave Greg a wink, then he went to catch up his own boyfriend.

The DI stood and pulled Mycroft to his feet. "We better get going, babe. You know how your brother gets."

"Like a rabid dog. Especially when he's protecting his toys."

By the time Greg and Mycroft had caught the others up they were outside the cells.

Mycroft glanced through the one way window in the door. The spy looked nervous. Good, perhaps he would be easy to intimidate and crack. Without a word, the government official opened the door and led the small group into the room. It was gratifying to watch the already nervous man cringe down lower in his chair.

Sherlock paced up to him until he was inches in front, then he folded his arms across his chest. "Did you intend on ruining my day?"

"I- I- No, sir?" the technician squeaked. "I don't know what I could have done to ruin your day, sir. I was doing my job when I got brought down here-" he trailed of at the glares he received from the four men.

Mycroft held his hand out to the guard at the door. The traitor's phone was pressed into his hand. 

"You are well aware that working for me is full of secrets. And rules." He waved the phone about. "Texting while my brother's life was at risk, let's have a look who had your attention when it should have been on me."

"It was just my sister!" the man said, sitting up straight. "It's a private message. I wanted to know how-"

"Yes, I see the message you sent," Mycroft said, looking at the screen. "That seems a strange message to send to your sister, does it not?" He held the screen up so the man could read it.

Subject spotted at club with S. Holmes. Please Advise.

"Moving house is she?"

The man opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

Greg snatched the phone from his boyfriend. "On the move," he read. "Your sister's new house must be so important to you that you risk your job."

John snorted, then took the phone from Greg. "Why don't we phone it?"

The man started shaking his head, very obviously terrified. "No, no, no. Please don't call it. It's as much as my life is worth if you do."

"That's a shame." John called the number.

After a couple of rings, a gruff voice answered, "Johnson, you know better than to call this number. Make it fast."

John laughed and held the phone out, Sherlock took it. "Good day. May I order a pizza please?"

There was a moments pause before, "Holmes!"

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. To whom am I speaking?" the detective asked politely.

"Let. Him. Go," the voice on the phone growled.

"Who? Johnson? I'm afraid I can't do that. He's been naughty." 

"Jim. Let Jim go. If you don't... Moran will kill you if you hurt Jim in any way. He'll kill you slowly."

Sherlock burst out laughing. "Oh. Really?"

There was a growl down the phone line. 

"That's a shame. I do rather enjoy my life."

Sherlock couldn't catch the words that were said in the background just before the call went dead. He scowled at the phone in frustration. "So all we've really learnt is that they know we have Ozzy here." He passed the phone to John and started pacing. "They'll try to come for him."

"They won't be able to get to him," Mycroft promised. "It's simply impossible."

A very loud and very scared yell out was perfectly timed to prove Mycroft wrong. 

Sherlock's head snapped over to his brother. "That was Ozzy."

John and Sherlock took off running, leaving Mycroft and Greg behind to take care of Johnson. When they made it back to the office, it was to find Moran trying to pull a screaming, fighting Ozzy out of the cage.

"You can't take me from Master!" Ozzy yelled. "He'll protect me!"

"Master!" Ozzy cried out, he tried to get passed Moran, but he was blocking the cage gate. 

"Come on, Jim, you can come home. Stop being stupid."

John pulled his gun from his waistband and levelled it at Moran.

"He doesn't want to go with you," the ex army captain said quite calmly. "Now back off. You're scaring him."

Moran rounded on John, his face twisted in rage. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing!" Ozzy screamed. "Get out!" He shoved Moran out the way and charged to Sherlock, collapsing on his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs.

Moran made a move to run, but John held his gun steady on him. "Just try it," he warned. He grinned when Moran stopped in his tracks and rested his hands behind his head.

Greg came jogging up and had the man cuffed in almost no time.

"Well that was fun," Mycroft said from the doorway. He was watching Ozzy. The poor man was absolutely terrified, not letting go of Sherlock at all.

"You know what to do with that," Mycroft indicated Moran. "Would you take care of it, Gregory? Strictly off the record, of course."

"Of course." The DI stole a kiss from his boyfriend, then dragged Moran down to the cells below and shoved him in one next to Johnson.

"You've got to let go of me, boy," Sherlock tried nudging the Irishman away, but he wouldn't move. "Now boy!"

Ozzy backed up. "I'm sorry, Master," he sobbed. 

"John, can you fetch us some tea, we need to calm him down some way."

Resigned to it, Sherlock sat in a chair and patted the space between his legs. "Come here, boy. Rest your head here." When Ozzy had set his chin in the empty space, the detective started petting Ozzy's hair and making soothing sounds. There certainly was no question about the man's loyalty.

When John returned from the small kitchenette he placed the tray on the table and picked up Ozzy's dinosaur from inside the cage.

The shaken man took his dinosaur gratefully with a polite, "Thank you, sir” for John. He even took the offered tea with thanks and began to sip it, but he didn't move far from Sherlock.

John settled on the opposite chair, with his own tea. He watched Ozzy carefully. "Sherlock, I owe you an apology, babe."

The detective glanced up. "What?"

"Him. He's loyal to you. Completely."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed in agreement. "I have to admit, the extent of his loyalty surprised even me. I think it may be safe to really teach him now." He glanced over to where Ozzy had placed the contents of Greg's case file. "Perhaps I'll start with that."

Mycroft wandered over and settled himself in another chair, stealing Sherlock's tea as he went. 

"You've done a good job with that, little brother."

Sherlock smiled and patted Ozzy on the head again. "Thank you, big brother." He shifted so he could stretch his legs out a bit. "I don't imagine anyone will be coming after him now that we have Moran."

"No. I don't imagine they will. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, however."

Rather than spit back something annoying, Sherlock inclined his head. "Thanks, Myc."

John eyed one of the beds that had been brought in and set up in the corner. "I know it's early, but I'm knackered. I'm getting some rest. You can all do whatever you like." He stood and ruffled Ozzy's hair on the way to the bed.


	17. Sacrifice

John didn't sleep long, just enough to top up his energy bag so to speak. When he woke, he saw Ozzy wrapped in a ball around Sherlock's feet, snoring softly. The detective was tapping away on his laptop.

Sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair, John leant over and kissed the detective. "Good morning, babe. What are you researching?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, trying to shut the lid down. 

John laughed and snatched the laptop off him. "You're reading my blog."

"It was the closest thing to you while you slept."

"Is that a compliment or an insult? You call my blog inane drivel." John wrapped a dark curl around his finger and pulled gently.

Sherlock put his laptop to the side and pulled John to his lap properly. 

"You are inane drivel," Sherlock replied.

John pulled Sherlock's curl hard. "Git!"

"Ow!" the detective complained, waking Ozzy up.

The former consulting criminal looked up at the two men, puzzled by their antics. He didn't understand why they carried on that way so often. He pushed himself upright on his knees. 

"It's ok, boy," Sherlock soothed his pet. "You can relax, no need for that right now."

Ozzy curled up again, still thinking about the two men and how they just seemed to go together. He was glad his master had someone like that.

"Actually boy, go and get us some drinks. In our kitchen. We'll be staying here a few more days until I'm sure there's no longer a threat if we return to Baker Street."

John watched Ozzy go to the kitchen, then he planted a huge kiss on Sherlock's mouth. "What do you have planned for today, babe?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Don't know. I want to look some more into this network of his," he jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Mm." John stole another kiss. "I want to help." He got up and went to sit in another chair. "Do you have anything for me to work on?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Taking my dog for a shower?"

John barked a laugh. "No chance, you can do that. I'll start researching."

"Fine. But after a cup of tea first. Ozzy!"

He appeared at the doorway to their kitchenette. "Yes, Master?"

"Make yourself one."

Ozzy's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Master!" He turned and rushed back into the kitchen. 

John laughed as he reached for his laptop. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that."

Sherlock looked up from the papers he had been staring at. "I can make him call you that too."

"No, no, no."

That made Sherlock laugh as well. 

"I'm happy how it is," the blond added. 

"We still need to remain above him, babe."

"You just called me, babe, you never do that."

Sherlock blushed, the tips of his ears going pink. "I'm merely emulating you in an attempt to-"

"Shut it. You called me babe and you meant it." John grinned at his laptop, opening the email Sherlock had just sent him with information about the case.

At the moment Ozzy came in carrying a tray with mugs on it. "I'm sorry, Master, I couldn't carry all three-"

"Hush, boy, it's fine. Kneel there," he pointed to his feet.

Jim knelt gracefully without putting the tray down.

The detective shook his head. "You could have set the tray down, boy." He leant forward and took one of the mugs. "Hand John one of the mugs." He went back to studying his laptop screen.

"Yes, Master."

"Cheers, Ozzy,” John sais, smiling.

Ozzy looked around, not sure what to do now. 

Sherlock held his dinosaur out and the Irishman took it gratefully. "Thank you, Master."

"Kneel at my feet." Sherlock reached out and patted Ozzy's head absently, his eyes glued to his laptop screen. He was trying to decide if Ozzy could help. When he brought his hand back to type he smelt it. 

"Jesus, boy, you stink!"

Ozzy whimpered. "I'm sorry, Master."

Sherlock sighed and set his laptop aside. "It's not your fault. Come with me. We'll get you cleaned up." He stood and started towards the bathroom. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Ozzy crawling behind him.

"Won't be long, John."

The doctor just looked over his laptop screen and smirked. 

"Get those clothes off, boy," Sherlock ordered.

Ozzy started stripping as the detective adjusted the taps. Sherlock added a sign in his Mind Palace reminding himself to bathe his pet daily. "Okay, into the bath with you."

Ozzy reached over and touched the water with his foot, he looked mightily confused. 

"What is it pet?"

"It's warm, Master. Why?"

"You've been a good boy. You get warm water." Sherlock picked up a flannel and some body wash. Once Ozzy had got into the water, he handed him both items, then he got to his feet and headed out of the bathroom. 

"Master?"

Sherlock turned on his heel, holding in his sigh. The boy was just holding the things Sherlock had given him. 

"Wash, boy."

Ozzy began washing himself, but he seemed almost frightened. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Master."

"Don't lie to me, boy."

"I don't like being by myself," Ozzy admitted, staring at the cloth in his hand.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tough. You're going to have to get used to it. John and I aren't always going to be around to babysit you."

Ozzy bit his lip and kept washing. He looked like he was about to cry.

Sherlock found himself tempted to stay, but what he had said was true. They couldn't play babysitter to a grown man, not now that he had broken fully. The aim had been to get to a point where they trusted him alone. They couldn't now waste their time when he was relatively speaking, trusted.

John looked up when he entered the living room. "That took you longer that I expected."

"He was being a bit... clingy."

John barked a laugh, "And you're surprised about that?"

The detective thought for a moment then shook his head. "No. I suppose not."

Sherlock began pacing the room. It wasn't as soothing as pacing their flat. There, he had a routine: up and over the coffee table, to the window, the mantle, over the coffee table and back onto the sofa.

John watched as his boyfriend walked around the room aimlessly. "Is that achieving anything?" He asked after a while. 

"No." Sherlock shot a look at the doctor. "I can't think!" He started tugging on his curls. "I need to be done with Moran's network. I need to be at home!"

"Alright," John got to his feet and prised his fingers free of his curls. "Go and sort your dog out and I will speak to Mycroft. Maybe he can shed some more light on this."

When Sherlock got to the bathroom, he found Ozzy sitting there, not doing anything.

"Boy, you need to wash your hair." He picked up a bottle of shampoo and handed it to the man.

"I'm sorry, Master."

"Just get on with it, you're no use to me in there."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock went back into the other room and gathered up Billy from where he had been dropped. He sat it on the loo. 

"The quicker you get clean and get out the quicker you can have him."

Ozzy started washing his hair and, this time, Sherlock stayed to watch. He didn't feel like checking on his pet every five minutes. He'd rather just get him to grow up a bit and do it all himself. 

John appeared in the door way. "You're brother's on his way up here."

Sherlock smiled. "How'd you manage to make him drop his oh so busy schedule?"

The doctor laughed. "I was polite."

"Oh, ha, ha. Your sense of humour never ceases to amaze me."

Ozzy took a deep breath and slipped under the water, then came back up, sputtering.

"Boy!" John snapped running into the room he grabbed Ozzy by the hair and pulled him up to his knees. "What on earth did you do that for?"

Ozzy looked confused and stretched his arm towards Sherlock seeking help. "My hair was full of bubbles. I had to get them out."

"That's not how you do it." John let go of his wet hair.

Sherlock folded his arms. "Do not speak to John with attitude, boy, I'm beginning to think giving you hot water has gone to your head. Is that right?"

"Problem with your toy, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked from the door.

"Oh, shut it, Mycroft," the detective shot in his brother's direction.

John held out a towel for Ozzy as he stepped out of the bath. "I don't think there's a problem. I think Ozzy was simply offering an explanation. We really need to age him a bit."

Ozzy dropped straight to his knees, on sight of Mycroft. 

Mycroft frowned.

"I'm sorry, sir," the kneeling man whispered.

"Get dressed," the government official ordered. "I don't have time to deal with you." He looked at his brother. "I have information."

"I'll see to him," John offered. "You two brains go get to work."

Mycroft followed his brother out of the room, glancing down at Ozzy one last time. 

"What's wrong with it?" Mycroft asked. 

Sherlock shrugged. "He's a bit… clingy, since catching Moran yesterday."

"Hmm. Perhaps he has suppressed memories of his former life and he's trying to make sure they stay buried." Mycroft thought a moment. "It would be best to keep a vigilant watch over him."

"What's this information of yours?"

"Well it's a case, really. The network seems to have collapsed now Moran is known to be in custody."

"That makes sense. He never had a firm grip on it unlike... a certain person." Sherlock had changed what he was about to say at the appearance of John and Ozzy.

"Drink your tea," Sherlock ordered, collapsing in his chair to read through the papers his brother had given him.

"William Nordstrom," the detective muttered to himself as he stopped to look at a photo of an ordinary looking man. "You have been a naughty boy."

"Who's that?" John asked, stepping over to look at the photo over Sherlock's shoulder.

"He's into a bit of everything, if the rumours on the street are correct."

Sherlock's head snapped up. "How did you get information from 'the streets'."

"That homeless network of yours is rather… useful in certain circumstances I am assured."

With a look of disdain, Sherlock asked, "Why would anyone in my network talk to you? They don't know you." His network wasn't made up of trusting individuals. They couldn't be, not the way they lived. He had earned their trust painstakingly over the years.

Mycroft shrugged. "They weren't eager to talk to me at first, but when they found out how much danger you were in and that I, your brother, sought to help you-"

Sherlock barked a laugh. "Of course, brother dear. That's the card you pulled." He rolled his eyes and caught sight of his dog who was staring up at Mycroft. "Problem, Ozzy?" Sherlock asked.

The former consulting criminal's eyes went wide and his eyes jerked to the floor. "No, Master."

"I don't quite believe you. Tell me what's wrong," the detective ordered.

"I think Mr. Holmes believes what he told those people, Master. He thinks you're in danger still."

"Danger from what?" Sherlock asked. "This guy?"

Mycroft inclined his head. "Another threat apparently, only this one has nothing to do with that." He pointed at Ozzy and settled into John's armchair.

The doctor came around and sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. "Why? What has Sherlock ever done to Nordstrom?"

Mycroft smiled thinly. "Nothing yet. I believe he is planning a pre-emptive strike before a major 'business' transaction."

"He's hitting out first at the people that might be able to stop him?" John asked.

Sherlock laughed at the way John worded it. "It's hard to tell if that's really clever or really dumb."

"At the risk of boosting your ego, I doubt there's anyone else clever enough to stop Nordstrom," Mycroft admitted. "With you out of the way, he would have nothing to worry about."

"Oh and what about you, big brother, going to abandon me now, are you?" Sherlock smirked at the look on Mycroft's face. "Anyway, I've got this thing that's quite clever," he toed at the kneeling Ozzy.

At the sound of his name, (thing meant just as much as Ozzy now), Ozzy looked up. He wanted a real chance to show Master that he could be useful. That and Master had to be kept safe. The moment he felt Mycroft's eyes on him, he bowed his head again.

"I suppose your toy could come in handy,” the government official admitted grudgingly.

Sherlock glanced down at Ozzy. "Maybe he can be. What do you think, boy? Would you like that?"

Ozzy looked up again, his excitement plain for anyone to see on his face. "Yes, Master, please. I would like to be helpful, very much."

Mycroft chuckled and got to his feet. "You've trained him well little Lockie."

"Piss off!" Sherlock snapped, but without its usual venom.

Ozzy ducked his head to hide his confusion. He knew the brothers cared about each other, so he didn't understand why Master said such things.

Mycroft grinned and picked up his umbrella swirling it around. "I'll have a car arranged for you, little brother. Try not to crash it into the wall this time."

"Mm."

"He means thank you," John said with a grin. He couldn't wait to see what car they would be using. Hopefully something suitability sporty.

"Where do you suggest we start?" Sherlock asked. 

Mycroft waved his hand absently. "You're the detective, little brother, you work it out."

The detective snorted, then got down on the floor and started laying out the contents of the folder so Ozzy could see it as well.

Mycroft didn't comment, just went and made himself a cup of tea. Once he had it in his hands, he stood and watched his little brother and his toy from the door.

John joined the government official. "Yeah, he's kind of cute doing that. Sherlock I mean, not Ozzy."

Mycroft made a face. "Must you say such things? It's rather nauseating."

"Oh shut up," John pushed passed him and into the kitchen. 

"Come on, Ozzy, where is this man likely to show up?" Sherlock asked.

"May I see a map, Master?" Ozzy asked.

Sherlock got his laptop and pulled up a map, then placed it in front of his pet.

He wasn't stupid enough to touch the computer, just asked Sherlock to move it each time he wanted to look somewhere else. 

Ozzy bounced where he was sat and pointed. "There, Master!" He could barely contain himself.

Sherlock couldn't see it as Ozzy clearly had, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. "Good boy."

John came over and joined the two men. "How did you find Nordstrom, Ozzy?"

Perfect. Sherlock wanted to hear this.

"From all of this, sir." He gestured at the papers around them. "The man likes to show off his wealth, but he needs to be accessible. Plus it's near his business interests."

John frowned and glanced towards Sherlock. "Is he right?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to work out how much of that made sense. "Yes. He's right."

"Isn't it a bit obvious, though?" John asked, scratching the back of his head.

"That's what Nordstrom is counting on, sir."

John shrugged. "Ok. Who am I to argue with two geniuses?"

"The only one who can," Sherlock said, getting to his feet and pressing his lips to John's.

Ozzy looked down and found his dinosaur, giving it a hug. He wished it could hug back. Right then, Sherlock patted him on the head. "As I said, good boy."

"Come on, then," Sherlock turned to his brother who had been watching the three of them. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, little brother. Nothing at all." Mycroft stayed behind to attend to business. The other three men took one of his cars. Sherlock complained about it the entire way.

Sherlock had let Ozzy sit in the back, which the Irishman was quite surprised about. He'd expected to be on the floor, seeing as no one could see them.

A couple of blocks from their destination, Sherlock bid the driver stop the car. "John, do you have your gun?"

"Of course."

The detective opened the car door and the three of them got out.

"Why are we getting out here?" John asked. 

Sherlock was about to answer, but realised his dog had stayed in the car, he reached in snagged him by the collar and dragged him out.

Ozzy felt out of place standing on the pathway. He wanted to move close to his Master, but didn't think it would be welcomed.

Sherlock took John's hand and dragged him down a side ally. "Follow, boy," he ordered sharply when once again he just stood there dumbly.

"I assume you have a plan?" John asked as they moved quietly down the alley.

"The same as usual. Make sure Nordstrom is out, investigate his flat, collect any evidence we might see."

John laughed. "So just our normal B&E." John was glad he glanced at Ozzy as he said that. 

"What is it, boy?" He asked at the look on his face. 

"Isn't that bad, sir?"

"Yes," John said firmly. "Most definitely, yes. The only time it's okay is if Sherlock says it is. You can trust his judgement."

Ozzy frowned, clearly wanting to argue. 

John stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Problem, boy?" He growled, not liking the look on his face.

"I don't understand, sir, but I'll do whatever Master says." Ozzy looked down at the ground, hating the way John had looked at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took off down the path, ignoring his dog. 

"Come on," John ordered, jogging to catch his boyfriend up.

Ozzy, after a moment's hesitation, jogged after them. Something about the situation bothered him and it wasn't just the notion of them breaking into Nordstrom's flat. He felt like something bad was about to happen.

They paused by a wooden gate and Sherlock slid his pen knife up through the gap, jimmying the lock open. 

As the three of them crept in the back garden they froze at the sight of the man at the door.

He had his back to them.

Sherlock motioned them back, hoping to make a tactical retreat, but one of them stepped on a stick that made a resounding crack.

The man at the door spun on his heel, a cigarette in one hand and a gun in the other. 

"Well that appeared out of nowhere," Sherlock hissed.

John already had his hands raised. Ozzy did likewise in imitation. It took the doctor stepping on Sherlock's foot to get him to raise his hands.

The man stepped down the few steps so he was properly in the back yard. 

"What have we here? I know you, don't I?" He said staring directly at Sherlock.

"It's possible, if you aren't completely blind and deaf. Unfortunately I've been featured prominently in the media." The detective rolled his eyes. "It's been ever so tedious."

"Oh, yes. You're the man my people are supposed to be taking care of." He levelled the gun at Sherlock's chest and John stepped between them.

"No, John," Sherlock hissed, he saw the gun poking out of John's waistband and reached forward for it. 

The man clearly didn't like Sherlock's movement because his finger pressed against the trigger and pulled.

Ozzy had reacted just a moment before and, as the bullet flew through the air, he jumped I'm front of John. The bullet tore into his side and he fell to the ground.

John pulled out his gun and aimed it at the fleeing Nordstrom. At the same time, Sherlock called his brother for help.

John took off after Nordstrom and Sherlock crouched down beside a whimpering Ozzy. 

He quickly told his brother to phone an ambulance. It would be far quicker if Anthea did it than if he did.

Sherlock tore off his scarf and used it to cover the wound, applying pressure.

In between shallow breaths, Ozzy panted out, "John..."

"He'll be fine."

Sherlock wasn't about to ask why Ozzy had done that. It had been exactly right. And despite the fact his pet was bleeding all over his favourite scarf, he was glad it was the ex-consulting criminal's blood rather than John's. 

"Good boy," Sherlock whispered, cupping his cheek with his spare hand.

The sounds of sirens approached. Sherlock was glad to hear them. As the paramedics and Mycroft's men appeared, John came around the corner, urging Nordstrom along in front of him with his gun.

"How's he doing?" the doctor asked, glancing at Ozzy and shoving Nordstrom in the direction of Mycroft. 

Despite Sherlock's best efforts Ozzy had succumbed to the shock of the situation and had long since passed out, his head on Sherlock's knee.

Mycroft's men took Nordstrom into custody, freeing John to go to Ozzy's side. Together with the paramedics, they worked to make sure he was stable, then loaded him into the ambulance.

Sherlock was nowhere near as distressed by this situation as he should have been, but even so he turned to John. 

"That could have been you," he whispered.

The doctor nodded, his adrenaline still high. "I know. What came over him to do that?"

"The only thing he managed to say was your name."

John shrugged. "You've trained him well."

"I'd better go in the ambulance with him. Things could get… awkward."

"I'll follow with your brother."

Sherlock climbed into the back of the ambulance and took a seat near Ozzy's head. The wounded man turned to look at him and tried to raise his hand in the detective's direction.

He shook his head once and Ozzy dropped his hand again. He was drifting in and out of consciousness as the ambulance pulled away.

John and Mycroft greeted them in the ambulance bay as Ozzy was being unloaded.

"How is he?" John asked, stepping up next to Sherlock.

"Fine," Sherlock answered. 

"I have had a special room prepared," Mycroft stepped in, it wouldn't be good if ordinary doctor's realised the state of Ozzy beneath the clothing.

Sherlock nodded his appreciation. "And Nordstrom?"

"My people are giving him their personal attention, I assure you."

Sherlock glanced at his pet then at his brother. "I hope they are too."

He couldn't resist wrapping his arms around John.

The doctor hugged him back. "I'm sure your p- Ozzy will be just fine." He was still amazed that the former consulting criminal had willingly saved his life. Ozzy was quite the different person than he had once been.

"Shall we?" Mycroft asked. 

After a moment, the detective nodded. "Of course," he marched off ahead, in search of his pet.

Sherlock walked into the facility as if he owned it, demanding to know where the new arrival had been taken.

"Little brother, private room." He pointed down a corridor. 

Sherlock turned on his heel and rolled his eyes before following the way the older government official was pointing.

There was a team of medical personnel working on Ozzy. He had woken up again, fighting the sedative, and was looking around panicked. Sherlock stepped into his line of sight and he immediately calmed.

Ozzy glanced at one of the staff then back at the detective. 

"Mr. Holmes," he whispered, his voice barely above a croak. 

He saw John come in behind him and smiled.

Ozzy's eyes drifted shut again, but the smile remained on his face.

John grasped Sherlock's arm and pulled him out of the way of the medical team and up against the wall. "He'll be okay," he said with a doctor's confidence. "But it's best to let them do their jobs."

"He'll panic if we leave again."

"Then we won't leave when he's awake." He walked over to the equipment and found the drip, he switched it over to a heavy sedative.

One of the doctors looked a question at John.

"If he wakes up and he's not here," John pointed at Sherlock, "he'll go into complete panic. I assure you, you don't want that."

The doctor nodded and resumed what he had been doing.


	18. Homecoming

"What are we going to do with him now?" Sherlock asked of his older brother. 

"Nothing's changed, Sherlock. If his response to Moron showing up wasn't enough to prove his loyalty then this should be. You've done an excellent job with him."

"Hasn't he earned better treatment?" John asked, shrugging. "I'm not saying give him free run of London, but maybe a real bed or something."

Sherlock glanced at his brother and Mycroft shook his head. 

"Nothing should change. Yes what he did was heroic, if you had done it for my brother I would be eternally grateful," Mycroft told John. "But that is Ozzy’s purpose now. I'm not saying I want him dead. But he is nothing more than a pet."

"Shouldn't they be taking him into the operating theatre?" Sherlock said worriedly.

Before Mycroft could answer, John spoke up. "That room is equipped for operation, recovery and as a private room all in one, correct, Mycroft?"

Mycroft nodded once. "It's where my people go if something goes wrong in the field. I've also had others... more... discreet people that need treating stay there."

The detective looked pale, paler than usual. John wrapped an arm around his waist and walked him towards a couple of very comfortable looking chairs. "Sit. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock collapsed into one of the chairs, pulling John onto his lap and resting his head on his shoulder. "I could have lost you."

"But you didn't."

"I hate the fact he saved you. It should have been me."

John got to his feet at once. "Don't you ever say that!"

The detective was surprised by John's reaction. "I don't understand." 

"If it had been you, you would be the one in there undergoing surgery!" John shouted.

Sherlock flinched back away from the doctor and John leant forward cupping his cheek. 

"I didn't mean to scare you, babe, just never say that again."

Mycroft turned away, giving the couple a semblance of privacy. He was so glad his baby brother was safe as well as John.

Several hours later, a doctor appeared at the door. "The surgery went well. He's waking up."

Sherlock glanced towards his brother, who nodded.

John stood and took Sherlock's hand, pulling him towards Ozzy's room. "We need to be there when he wakes up."

"What do I do? Thank him?" Sherlock looked at the government official for guidance. 

The older Holmes shook his head. "No. You will just confuse him. Act like nothing has happened."

"That seems harsh."

"Better than the response you're likely to get if you try your way."

Sherlock frowned, then nodded. He pushed the door open and, still holding John's hand, crossed to Ozzy's bedside.

Ozzy looked like he thought he was in trouble, for what, Sherlock had no idea. 

"Master-" he whispered. 

"Shh, don't speak."

"You're allowed in the bed, dog," Mycroft told him.

"He needs his dinosaur," John observed. "Where is it. I've lost track."

Sherlock shrugged. 

"I'll have it brought here from Baker Street," Mycroft said, heading to the door. 

"You thirsty, boy?" Sherlock asked.

Ozzy blinked at him and nodded.

John fetched a cup of ice chips and a spoon. "It's too soon for water. It might not stay down." Thrusting the cup and spoon into Sherlock's hands, he said, "Start with this."

"When can we go home, Master?" Ozzy asked. "I don't like it here. I don't like it, being in a bed."

"You need to be there, boy, until you get better."

"I didn't mean to get hurt, Master."

"I know," he ran his hands through Ozzy's clean hair. "It's fine. The quicker you get well, the quicker we can go home."

"Yes, Master." Ozzy yawned and his eyes fell shut.

"We'll be right here, doggie. Get some rest," Sherlock told him.

Soon Ozzy had drifted off to sleep.

"Well that went well."

John rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's sarcasm. "It went more than well. Quit complaining.”

***

It had been quicker than expected for Ozzy to recover enough to go home. Mycroft sent a car round for Ozzy, John and Sherlock.

Remembering how he was supposed to act outside of the flat, the former consulting criminal resisted the urge to fall to his hands and knees and crawl from the room.

John put his hand at the back of Ozzy's head and led him to the door. 

Sherlock jumped in the drivers seat just as the driver got out to open the rear door. 

"Little brother, you aren't insured."

"Big deal!" He yelled back.

Mycroft rubbed his forehead as if he was getting a headache.

"My pet has had enough of strangers for now," the detective explained. "It's time to get him used to it just being us again."

"Is that a hint?" Mycroft yelled back, already turning on his heel to head back into the facility. 

"Yes. But not the way you have taken it. Get in the bloody car, Mycroft."

John watched gobsmacked, as the government official climbed in the back beside Ozzy and pushed him to his knees.

It further surprised him that Ozzy seemed grateful to be there. A single pat of Mycroft's hand on the seat and the former consulting criminal placed his head on it.

"I'm surprised you want me with you."

Sherlock glared over the backseat at his brother. "You've been with us every step of the way so far."

John saw the brief smile that flitted across the older Holmes' face out of the corner of the eye. "You could phone Greg and have him meet us back at the flat."

"He's at work. Dealing with Nordstrom," John pointed out. 

"I'm sure he would ditch it for my big brother!"

Mycroft shook his head softly, "He'll join us later."

As they pulled up outside 221, Ozzy lifted his head. He was so glad to be home where he belonged. Maybe his Master would let him get out of these clothes and curl up on his dog bed.

Sherlock took his dog's jacket from him at the door. "Upstairs and put the kettle on."

"Yes, Master," Ozzy mumbled, running up the stairs. 

"The cage is still here," Mycroft said when John had followed the former consulting criminal up the stairs.

"There are times we don't want him in our bedroom," Sherlock informed his brother, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"I think sleeping in your bedroom when you and John are in there should be a treat. Not an everyday occurrence."

Sherlock frowned. "Maybe you're right."

He followed his brother upstairs to find John sat on the sofa and Ozzy in the kitchen filling the kettle. The doctor had a little frown on his face. "After the tea, he needs rest. He did just get out of hospital."

"He's fine," Mycroft pointed out swirling his umbrella. "I had him released on the knowledge things could remain the same here."

"Still, he should sleep."

"I shall defer to you, Doctor Watson."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't go all formal and cold on me, Mycroft Holmes. We know each other far too well for that to work on me any more."

Mycroft merely shrugged, an action that looked so out of place on the older man. He finally took a seat when Ozzy came in carrying a tray.

The former consulting criminal passed out the mugs of tea, each one made to the recipient's particular taste. When he had finished, he knelt at the foot of Sherlock's chair, hoping to be allowed to lean against his legs.

The detective got to his feet and held his mug in Ozzy's direction. When the kneeling man had took it, Sherlock fetched the dog bed from the cage and dragged it across the room. "Up," he ordered. 

As Sherlock settled back in his seat, Ozzy felt the bed soft beneath his knees. "Thank you, Master."

The detective patted Ozzy's head. "Go ahead and lay down. John wants you to rest, to sleep if you can."

"Yes, Master." He curled up on the bed, trying his luck by resting his head on Sherlock's shoe. The detective didn't seem too bothered by it.

John toed off his shoes and stretched, then rested his feet on the coffee table. "I'm not cooking and we don't have anything in anyway. Shall I call out for food?"

"No need," Mycroft announced as the buzzer went. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson let Anthea in and she brought up dinner in several brown bags, going to the kitchen to set it out on the table.

Ozzy didn't move, so deeply asleep had he fallen.

"He's slept for weeks," Sherlock couldn't help but point out, "how can he still be tired?"

"I expect it is more a comfort thing than actually being tired," Mycroft watched the Irishman for a moment.

John stood and went to the kitchen, his stomach was rumbling. Mycroft followed.

When Sherlock tried to do the same, Ozzy wrapped a hand around his ankle and gave a whimper. The detective slowly extracted himself anyway. He watched as Ozzy curled himself back up again and headed off into the kitchen. 

Anthea was laying the table with the food she had brought back.

Even as the three men took their seats, Mycroft's assistant prepared a plate for Lestrade. She covered it, then looked at the fridge with misgiving.

"The second shelf is safe enough," John told her with a smile that made Sherlock scowl in jealousy.

"Technically it all should be fine. And probably empty."

John frowned. 

"We've been living at his club for weeks."

The doctor pointed at Sherlock with his fork. "We could have been gone for months and I wouldn't trust the fridge to be safe from your experiments."

"Mycroft?" His eyes darted to his brother. 

"Drama queen," Mycroft grumbled. "It's a new fridge."

John dropped his face into his hands and laughed. "I can't win against two Holmeses."

Later that evening, Greg appeared looking completely knackered.

"He being treated well?" John asked with a smirk on his face. 

Greg collapsed in the seat where his food was. "What a day. Yeah he's happy in his little cell."

In the living room Ozzy had woke earlier, but he was still curled up on the dog bed. At the mention of Nordstrom, he started growling deep in his throat.

Sherlock held his finger up to forestall whatever the DI was about to say while he continued. 

"Can you hear that?" The detective asked the three men.

John inclined his head as he got to his feet. 

"If you're trying to get out of food-"

"You know I'm not," Sherlock grumbled back. When he reached the front room, he found his pet still asleep, but grumbling to himself. 

"Shh," Sherlock soothed, reaching down and running his hand through Ozzy's hair.

"Really, Sherlock-" Mycroft started, but was cut off.

"He's my pet, big brother. I'll treat him as I see fit."

"Don't be too-"

"Myc, please. When John said he needed rest I am sure he meant uninterrupted."

Ozzy gave another twitch and a groan, then quieted, allowing the detective to return to the kitchen.

"Perhaps, brother-mine, you should be more concerned with getting your goldfish home. Lestrade looks completely shattered."

"Gregory?"

"Hmm?" The DI looked exactly as Sherlock had described; exhausted. 

"Keys," Mycroft said holding his hand out in his boyfriend's direction. "I'll drive."

John saw them out. Sherlock couldn't be bothered. He had gone back over to stand by Ozzy again. He hated to wake him, but his dog had to be moved. Sherlock collapsed into his seat and then nudged his pet with his toe. 

"Get off!" Ozzy snapped. 

"Dog! Kneel up!" the detective snapped. He couldn't allow such insubordination.

The man curled up on the dog bed blinked his eyes open confused, then knelt up. "Master-"

Sherlock slapped him, successfully cutting off his speech. "Bow your head!" Sherlock barked. "Now!"

Ozzy bowed his head, his eyes welling with tears. He wasn't sure what he had done to make his master so angry. He had been asleep, dreaming, then he had been jerked awake by his master's harsh words.

John walked in just as Ozzy ducked his head, he immediately frowned in confusion. "What has he done?"

"I nudged him awake and he told me to 'Get off'. Hardly an acceptable response."

Ozzy's head snapped up at that.

"Down!" Sherlock yelled. 

Before Ozzy could comply, the detective grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.

"Master-"

"Not. A. Word. You'll sleep in the cage, not our room. Count yourself lucky that you just came home from my brother's facility or your punishment would be much worse."

"But-"

"Fetch a gag for our dog, John. Any leniency you have earned with good behaviour has been revoked. Any comfort I deem to give you will be earned. If you speaking to me in such a way wasn't enough, your continual arguing is."

Ozzy closed his eyes, trying to hide his confusion and tears. He didn't fight when he felt the gag being pressed to his lips or even when he was pulled to his feet and off of the dog bed.

Sherlock didn't put the dog bed back in the cage, just cuffed his dogs hands and feet and shoved him inside. He bolted the cage and locked it, only pausing long enough to check the water bottle was full. 

"Your attitude better be bloody different in the morning, dog, or we will be having words and I can assure you, you will be highly uncomfortable."

John stood with his hands on his hips. He shook his head in puzzlement. "I don't understand. Why would he pick now to rebel?"

"Maybe we were too soft on him while he recovered."

Ozzy curled into the corner as much as he could, sobbing, he hadn't meant to anger Master it had just happened. 

John held his hand out. "Come on, bed."

With a heavy sigh, Sherlock followed him out of the room. 

***

The following morning, the detective only went as far as to open the cage gate, he didn't give any orders and he didn't look at Ozzy.

For his part, Ozzy didn't offer to leave the corner of the cage. He tried to curl up into it even tighter, a clear impossibility.

John stopped in the doorway from the kitchen, a frown on his face. Something felt off about the entire situation.

Ozzy didn't watch as John paced into the room and then turned on his heel for the kitchen. 

He stayed in his corner, not understanding why the gate had been opened. He was exhausted having spent all night worrying.

The doctor made coffee, trying to figure out what was going on with Sherlock's pet the entire time. What would possess Ozzy to misbehave the night before and be so completely docile this morning. He shrugged. It was beyond him. John changed his focus to breakfast. They still didn't have anything in. He'd have to do the shopping later in the day.

Sherlock reappeared after a few moments in his suit.

"Going out?" John asked. 

"No," he collapsed in his chair, ignoring his dog in the cage.

"I'm bored, John! Bored!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"I know the last few weeks have been boring, waiting for Ozzy to heal. I can call Greg if you like, see if he has anything on."

"He'll be sleeping."

John laughed. "He won't be. And since when have you cared about that?"

"I don't know."

"What's wrong with your toy?"

"I don't know that either. That's why I'm ignoring it."

Sherlock ruffled his own hair, putting it in more disarray, then looked at Ozzy in the cage. "Doggie! If you're not sick, then come out of there."

Cautiously, like he was waiting for a beating, Ozzy crawled out, he went straight to the detective's feet and collapsed in an exhausted ball.

"You didn't sleep last night," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"You were angry with me, Master. I tried to understand why. I thought about it all night. I don't remember doing what you said I did, but you never lie, so I must have."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're no use in this state."

"I'm of no use anyway, Master."

The detective leapt up and started pacing.

In response, John let out a long sigh. His boyfriend was in one of those moods. It looked like it was going to be up to him to sort this out.

John marched over to Ozzy. "Kneel up in the corner. I know we've been very lenient with you these last two weeks, but don't think that means you get to manipulate us. Your next infraction will end with a visit to C. Sherlock's in one of his moods, so stay in that corner until you're called for."

Ozzy bit his lip and crawled to the corner. "I'm confiscating this as well," the doctor called after him, waving the dinosaur in his face.

In the corner, Ozzy cried silently. He was separated from both his Master and his toy and felt completely miserable.

"John, check the blog. See if there's something not boring on there," the detective demanded.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Well you really are in a great mood today."

"Shut up and find a case." 

"You're attitude is not helping your cause," John grumbled as he grabbed his laptop. After several minutes he found a case and pointed it in Sherlock's direction. 

Within 10 minutes, Ozzy was locked back in the cage and the pair of them were heading out the door.

They came back covered in mud from head to toe, not an inch of the Belstaff had been spared. Both of them were grinning like madmen.

"Sherlock, we need a shower."

"Yes, we do. Come along, John."

They disappeared into the bathroom without a glance at Ozzy.

When they returned from the shower, Sherlock was back in a clean suit and his dressing gown, John was just in pyjamas. 

Sherlock frowned when he glanced at the cage. Ozzy was knelt in the far corner, facing away from the room, his head was low and his cuffed wrists were behind his head.

"Mycroft," he said, turning so he could see his brother sat on the sofa. "What brings you by on this fine day?" He actually sounded cheerful.

The government official gave John a knowing look. "I simply dropped by to visit my baby brother." He neglected to mention the fact they'd seen each other the day before until quite late. 

Sherlock snorted. "You make him do that?" He jerked his head in his dog's direction. 

"Not at all. He was like it when I came in."

"How long have you been there?" He noticed the mug of half drunk tea on the table.

"An hour. How was the Glover case?"

"Spectacular! Though my poor coat will have to go to the cleaners."

John wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Babe, what is Ozzy doing?"

"And you have lots of coats."

Sherlock shrugged. "Kneeling in the corner by the looks of things."

"Did you tell him to do that?"

"No."

"Ozzy, get out of there," John ordered. "You haven't eaten all day. Come here. Let me get those cuffs off and go fix yourself something."

Ozzy stayed completely still, only inclining his head in Sherlock's direction to see if it was what he wanted. 

"Now, boy!" Sherlock barked.

The former consulting criminal scrambled over to John and knelt upright so the doctor would barely have to move to uncuff him. Ozzy was upset with himself for causing his Master further distress.

Ozzy let John remove the cuffs from his feet and scrambled into the kitchen on his knees. 

"What happened?" Mycroft asked of his brother.

Sherlock didn't reply, just took up his violin and bow and prepared to play.

John gave Mycroft a look and a shrug. "I've no idea." The violin started screeching. "Apparently, neither does he."

With a sigh, Mycroft got to his feet and snatched the violin from his brother. "Go and get him," he ordered. 

When Sherlock reached the kitchen, Ozzy was knelt in the corner, eating a bowl of oatmeal.

"Set the bowl on the table, doggie. My brother wants to see you." Sherlock guided Ozzy into the living room by the nape of his neck and walked him over to his brother.

"What did you do?"

Ozzy dropped to his knees immediately, his head ducked. 

"I don't know, sir, I don't know. Please."

"Sherlock?"

"He yelled at me. I reprimanded him and he argued."

"Do you deny what my brother says," Mycroft asked.

"I- Of course not, sir. I never would." Ozzy dropped his gaze to the floor.

Mycroft grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him upright. 

"Why did you argue?"

Ozzy was crying now, "I don't know, sir." He glanced at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Mycroft released Ozzy and smoothed his waistcoat. "I suggest you let it go. This time. However, if it should happen again-"

"It won't, sir, I swear."

Sherlock stared at the former consulting criminal and he ducked his head. 

"I'm sorry, Master."

"Go take a shower," the detective ordered. "And when you're done, don't bother to get dressed. Perhaps allowing you clothes has given you the illusion that you matter."

"Master-"

"Now!" Sherlock barked.

Ozzy had never moved so fast, he raced through to the bedroom and ditched the clothes as he went. He piled them up with a depressed look and climbed into the shower, not bothering to turn the hot water on.

When next Ozzy appeared, he crawled from the bathroom and into the living room where he knelt up in the door with his hands behind his head.

One look at him and John spotted the gooseflesh on him. He walked over and felt his arm. "Bloody hell, but you're cold!"

Ozzy flinched at the doctor's tone, but managed to stay knelt upright. 

Mycroft looked over, as did Sherlock. Both of them shared the look of confusion. 

John fetched the blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around Ozzy's shoulders. "Is the hot water not working?"

Ozzy didn't know how to answer that question and he didn't like the comfort John seemed willing to offer. He'd been bad, he didn't deserve it, but he daren't shrug off the blanket. That would be disrespectful. "I- I didn't try the hot water."

John glanced over at the two Holmeses. "Why not?"

"Please, sir, I don't know, sir. I just…" he glanced towards his Master and then ducked his head.

"I didn't order you to take a cold shower. Stop-" Sherlock gesticulated wildly, "giving yourself punishments. That's our job, not yours."

Ozzy was completely and utterly confused. His Master had said the hot water had made him like this. He didn't want to be like this and upset his owner. 

"Master, please, I don't know what you want."

"I'll use small words, then. Go back to the shower. Set it to a comfortable temperature and stay in the shower until you're warm, then turn it off and crawl back in here without any clothes on. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," he shuffled out of the room, his head low like he was going to burst into tears again. 

"He didn't mean to speak to me like that last night," Sherlock pointed out. 

"Doesn't matter," Mycroft shook his head. "It's not what he did then that I am concerned about. More what he has done and is doing since. He's thinking for himself, he's doing what he thinks you want rather than what he's told."


	19. Chapter 19

John stood with his hands on his hips. "It doesn't feel right, punishing someone who saved my life not too long ago, but we did say that we would if he made another mistake."

"Maybe he doesn't realise it's a mistake?" Sherlock offered, he sank into his seat and folded his hands up beneath his chin.

"It. Doesn't. Matter," Mycroft countered. "He's still thinking for himself. Something has to be done. I'm not saying tie him to the cross and flog him, but do something!"

Sherlock glared at his brother. "No."

"If you don't, Sherlock, I will. And I won't do it in C, I will take him away."

The brothers locked gazes. John could almost see the sparks flying between them.

"Fine!" the detective barked. "I'll tie him in a stress position and explain why. Does that meet with your approval?"

"This isn't for my benefit, Sherlock! He is nothing more than a dog. If a dog barks for no reason, you can't not tell it off because it doesn't realise it's wrong."

"Oh, stop with the lecture Mycroft. I've already agreed to your demands, that should be enough."

Their argument was halted by the appearance of Ozzy whose skin appeared pink and warm now as he knelt up.

"Get in the corner," Sherlock ordered. He turned to John, "Mycroft's demands are fair, he is quite correct."

John fetched a dressing gown. "He needs to wear this when we go down to C. I think Mrs. Turner is visiting."

"You stay here, John, please. My brother and I will deal with him." Sherlock closed his eyes, contemplating what he could do to him without aggravating the healed bullet wound too much. Yes he had saved John and had been correct to do so, but the wound shouldn't be used for discomfort.

The doctor nodded, then went to Ozzy. "Put this on." He thrust the dressing gown into the former consulting criminal's hand, then went and sat in his chair.

As soon as Ozzy had put on the dressing gown, Sherlock went and took him by the arm. "It's time for a visit to C."

Ozzy pulled out of his grip and started shaking his head so strongly he lost his balance. "Please, Master, please, no, I'm sorry for whatever it was."

"It's too late for 'sorry'. You've been making decisions about your own punishments, thinking for yourself. That's unacceptable and must be corrected," Sherlock explained.

"Master-"

"Enough!" Mycroft barked from across the room. "Do not speak again. Come here."

Sherlock let him go, and the former consulting criminal ducked his head as he crossed the room.

Mycroft grasped him by the hair and gave him a little shake. "You will not hesitate to do as you are told. If you do or if you speak, that will be seen as another infraction.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

Mycroft shoved him towards the door. "Now get downstairs and if you see Mrs. Hudson you will greet her politely and then disappear into C. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he repeated.

The moment he was released, Ozzy went downstairs. He didn't encounter either Mrs. Hudson or Mrs. Turner along the way to C. As he opened the door, his hand shook, but he entered the flat and closed the door behind him anyway.

Sherlock actually ruffled John's hair as he walked passed, "We'll be up in a bit."

"Bring him with you."

"What?"

"Don't leave him downstairs. There is no heating and that wound of his shouldn't get cold."

The detective gave a sharp nod and a smile. "Yes, doctor." He chased after his brother, his footfalls echoing on the stairs.

The moment Mycroft stepped into the basement flat, Ozzy went into a panic. He didn't know if he should remain standing or drop to his knees. He wanted to do what he was told not what he thought was right, like Master had said. He dropped to his knees. He had been told long ago to kneel when they entered the same room as him.

Mycroft simply stood before the kneeling Ozzy until his brother joined him. "You mentioned putting him in a stress position. I trust you have something particular in mind."

Ozzy didn't like the sound of that and whimpered but he didn't speak.

"He's not going on the cross. I thought of suspension."

"Ah, very well," Mycroft agreed.

"But we have to mind the wound. I won't have it used to punish him. I warn you, Mycroft, I won't budge on that."

The government official rolled his eyes. "Fine. Use the rope to cradle that part of his body, but make the rest of him uncomfortable." He walked over and picked up a coil of rope. "Do you want to do the honours or shall I?"

"You."

"Master, please-" Sherlock slapped him cutting him off.

"Gag him, little brother. He needs to learn a lesson."

The detective nodded, then fetched a ball gag. Holding it up in front of Ozzy, he ordered, "Kiss it."

Ozzy was too scared by the presence of Mycroft to not obey immediately.

Once he had kissed it, Sherlock jammed it between his teeth then buckled it up behind his head.

Mycroft had a coil of rope in his hand and approached the former consulting criminal. He began tying the basic harness that would be the foundation for whatever else they chose to do to him.

Ozzy kept completely still and did everything he was told, he had his eyes shut, thinking to himself how he deserved all of this and more. He'd upset his Master.

Sherlock brought Ozzy's arms around behind his back and held them there while his brother tied them in place.

When Mycroft was done, the detective walked around and put his hand at Ozzy's neck. "Will you fight us?"

The former consulting criminal made a whining sound and shook his head.

"Do you promise me, boy? Because it would be so easy for you to go home with my brother."

Ozzy nodded. He did not want to go with Mycroft. Ever!

"Good." Sherlock pulled on the overhead hook bringing it down and attaching it to the harness. In all honesty, Sherlock hadn't expected a different response. He stepped back as his brother hoisted the harness.

Ozzy didn't even offer to struggle once raised into the air.

"Is there any strain on your wound?" Sherlock asked, resting his hand on his toy's side.

Ozzy shook his head no, but in truth, it ached fiercely.

"I don't know if I believe you."

Mycroft looked over.

"Why would he lie?"

"Because he thinks it's what you want to hear," Mycroft replied, tugging the rope sharply.

Sherlock grasped Ozzy's chin and looked into his eyes. "Were you lying, doggie?" The answer was obvious. "Don't. Lie. To. Me."

Ozzy looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Don't even try that!" Sherlock barked. "You know the exact reason you are being punished, and you carry on anyway!" He held out his hand for the rope and added support for the wound sight. He kept improvising with the rope until he saw Ozzy relax. "I don't know what has got into you, dog, but if you don't hurry up and bloody well lose it, you will pay the price of disobedience with the end of a cane."

Those words made Ozzy whine. He didn't want the cane. He hated the cane. Without thought, he started to struggle.

Sherlock sighed and wrapped his hand around Ozzy's throat. "Enough!"

He stilled at once, tears beginning to fall.

"Think about why you're in this position. I'll be back to fetch you. Eventually." Sherlock released his grip on Ozzy's throat and turned to leave the flat.

Mycroft ummed and erred for a moment. Then he followed Sherlock.

When they reached the hall upstairs Sherlock sighed. "I know John said not to leave him in the cold, but it won't be long."

The doctor stuck his head out and saw the brothers standing on the first floor landing. "You left him in there?!" he called down.

The detective closed his eyes. "John, I-"

"No! You promised me. You never break a promise."

Sherlock ducked his head, "Yes, John," then he turned on his heel back down to C.

"How do you do that?" Mycroft asked of the doctor when his brother had shut the door behind him.

"Mm? Oh. Sherlock knows when I mean business." John shrugged. "And he's smart enough not to push me."

"Right."

"Answer me something, Mycroft. Would you break a promise to Greg?"

"No. Of course not. Oh..."

"Exactly, now go down there and help your brother before I spank the pair of you."

Mycroft turned bright red. "Of course, Doctor Watson." He turned and rushed down the stairs.

* * *

Greg, listening from the door, burst out laughing. He poked his head in and shook it, splashing rain water all over the place.

"You stood out in the rain?" John asked.

"Well I walked up and when I heard your voice, I needed to hear his response," he smirked.

John chuckled. "Come on upstairs. I'll get you a towel."

"They're actually rather cute, our boyfriends."

"I doubt Ozzy would agree."

The DI shrugged. "Yeah, well, he's not suppose to."

"I guess not." John ran off up the stairs and with a groan the older man followed.

Ozzy was sobbing when the Holmeses re-entered the flat. He wanted nothing more than to be allowed to curl up at his master's feet, but he didn't try and communicate when Sherlock approached him.

Mycroft had gone straight for a flogger which he weighed heavily in his hand.

The detective grasped Ozzy's chin and forced him to look him in the eyes. "I'm going to let my brother administer the next portion of your punishment."

Ozzy closed his eyes and winced when the flogger fell. He could take this, he would take it. He had to. For Master to keep him.

Sherlock stood back and watched, wondering if it was really possible to drive all independent thought out of Ozzy.

"We managed it before," Mycroft assured him, looking over.

"I know. But is it what we want?

Mycroft struck Ozzy one more time, then stopped and looked at his brother. "Of course it is."

"It was his independent thinking that saved John."

"No. It wasn't," Mycroft shook his head and joined his little brother. "It was my orders."

"What?"

"When you first caught him and put him down here. I warned him. Warned him to protect you and John at all costs, even if that meant getting himself hurt. It's been a while, but he has clearly held onto that."

Thoughtfully, Sherlock paced around Ozzy once, then stopped in front of him. "Is that true?"

The former consulting criminal wasn't sure, but he thought it might be, so he nodded.

"So these last few days, since we've been home, is just you acting up." He grabbed Ozzy by the hair and pulled his head back.

"We had already figured that out, little brother."

"I know. But now I know for sure, we can punish him and it will be over." He shoved Ozzy away, sending him swaying. "Finish the job, Mycroft. We've been forced to waste too much time on him already."

Mycroft nodded once and stepped forward with the flogger again. The younger Holmes stepped to the side to watch, arms folded.

Ozzy was pink from the flogger all over, except for where the newly healed wound was. He was crying and making pitiful sounds.

Mycroft tossed the flogger onto the table, finally satisfied. "Get him down," Mycroft ordered.

Sherlock lowered him to the floor and then began to untie him. He didn't show any form of comfort yet. "Crawl to the door, dog."

Arms and legs shaking, Ozzy crawled to the door.

"Up, doggie," Sherlock ordered. "Put the dressing gown back on. "You'll walk up the stairs, as soon as you reached B you'll drop to your knees." Sherlock removed the gag. "Is that clear?

"Yes, Master," Ozzy replied hoarsely. The moment the door had been opened, he went through it and walked to the stairs.

When Ozzy was out of hearing range, Sherlock turned to his older brother. "Well?"

"Well... we will know if the punishment has worked if he is knelt by the door. If he's not he'll be thinking for himself."

The detective almost sighed with relief when they reached the top of the stairs to B and found him knelt where specified.

"Hello, lovely," John said upon Sherlock's entrance into the flat. "Did Ozzy behave for you?"

Ozzy jerked at that, hoping he had done the right thing.

"I suppose." He dropped his hand in Ozzy's hair. "Go and get yourself a glass of water," he ordered.

The Irishman crawled to the kitchen and did as instructed. He drank the water down between hiccoughing sobs.

Sherlock closed his eyes, then glanced between John and Mycroft. When they both nodded once, he knew what he needed to do. He went into the kitchen and pushed his boy to the floor. "Crawl through to my chair. Kneel beside it. Not a word."

Sherlock watched the former consulting criminal crawl into the living room and settle, then he strode through and fell into his chair, dropping his hand into Ozzy's sweaty hair.

Ozzy was still sniffling.

"Calm yourself, doggie," Sherlock said in a stern voice. "Your Master needs to talk with his friends now."

Ozzy ducked his head even further. "Yes, Master," he whispered.

John came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray.

"Your dog is still clothed, little brother," Mycroft couldn't help but point out when he sat down.

"If you're going to have him strip," John said, setting the tray down, "I want to have a look at his wound, make sure it still looks good."

"Go with John, doggie," Sherlock ordered, leaning over and grabbing the tray. He poured a drink for himself and for Mycroft and watched Ozzy crawl after the doctor.

Greg had fallen asleep on the sofa and was snoring softly. Mycroft picked the DI's feet up and rested them in his lap as he sat, all without spilling a drop of his drink. "I trust my brother's pet remains in good health."

They had sat in an easy silence until John reappeared. Ozzy was on his leash. Sherlock took it and tugged him over beside him again.

"He's fine. Aren't you Ozzy?"

"Yes, sir," Ozzy answered the doctor with his head low.

With another tug on the leash, Sherlock pulled the Irishman closer. "You may lay down at my feet."

"Thank you, Master," he curled up, unsure whether he could curl into Sherlock or not. When the detective pushed his foot beneath his head he took that as a yes. With a small smile he got comfortable.

"Punishment over," Sherlock told him.

Mycroft rested his hand on Greg's ankle and started rubbing it absently. The DI moaned and curled into the sofa, narrowly missing the older man's cock with his foot.

John snorted from across the room and collapsed on Sherlock's lap. "Your toy is sleeping in the cage tonight," John said as he placed a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek.

"He always sleeps in the cage."

John shrugged and shifted around, making his boyfriend still completely. Then he glanced down at the former consulting criminal.

Ozzy was still curled up on the floor, but he had looked up at the couple and was biting his lip. John and Sherlock ignored him after that.

"John is right," Mycroft pointed out. "Sleeping in your room should be a reward, not a guarantee."

"Yes, yes, brother-mine. Point made." Sherlock heaved a sigh and dropped his chin onto the doctor's shoulder. "I'm bored. Entertain me."

John pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I don't know what I can do to entertain you."

Sherlock huffed. "My dog is back to the way we like it."

Mycroft shook Greg's ankle to wake him. "Gregory," he said gently, "I believe our welcome here has worn itself out. Wake up. It's time to go."

Greg ignored him and rolled into the sofa even more, getting comfy. He didn't care what Mycroft said, he was sleeping.

John laughed whilst Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's fine, babe. Take pity on Greg, he's completely knackered."

"He should have gone home, then, rather than coming here," the detective whinged.

"You wanted them here, Lock," John said with a smirk. "Take him upstairs," he offered the government official. "You can crash on the spare bed."

"Thank you, John," Mycroft said pointedly ignoring his brother. "I will." He scooped Greg up in his arms and carried him from the room.

"You insufferable prat. Your brother has helped us a lot."

"I know." Sherlock smirked. "He knows how I really feel."

John laughed and took Sherlock's hand, dragging him to his feet. "Well, come to bed and show me how you feel about me."

The detective followed without resisting which caused Ozzy to whine from where he had been left on the floor.

Sherlock yanked his arm out and turned on Ozzy. "Excuse me, dog?"

"Master, you can't-"

Sherlock reached down and dragged him up by his hair. "Get in that cage," he hissed shoving him towards it. "You will pay for that insubordination in the morning."

"Yes, Master," Ozzy said, cringing. He crawled towards it swiftly, then climbed into it, seeking refuge in the far corner.

"I expect silence from you tonight, unless the flat is broken into or on fire. Understood?"

"Yes, Master," he repeated, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

* * *

Sherlock awoke to banging on the door, he groaned as he got up and went to answer it. It was Mrs. Hudson.

"You have a client."

Sherlock closed his eyes, then glanced in the sitting room where his dog was curled up in the corner of the cage.

"Can we use your flat?" At her nod, he turned to give a rousing John a grin. "Fun times!"

"Ugh. Coffee."

"No time, John. Our client awaits. Get dressed." He shoved his boyfriend towards the bedroom. "Hurry, hurry."

Sherlock bounded off down the stairs as soon as he had his suit on.

"How do you put up with him, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Practice, Mrs. H," John said, grinning. He soon caught up with his boyfriend and joined him in the living room of 221A.

When they returned to 221B an hour or so later, Mycroft was on the sofa and Greg was in the kitchen.

"You got a case, baby brother?"

"Yup," he threw himself in his armchair. "It's in Devon."

At that, Ozzy whimpered.

Mycroft was shaking his head. "You can't possibly take that," he pointed at Ozzy, "to Devon. How would you explain him, let alone keep him in check?"

"I know, brother dear. That's where you and Geoff come in."

"I heard that, you prick," Greg said from the kitchen door. He took a coffee to Mycroft and collapsed on the sofa beside him.

"How do you mean?"

"He's staying with you. You have all the facilities at the club to 'keep him in check' as you put it. We stayed there long enough."

Ozzy, still in the cage, looked fretful. He didn't want to be left with Mycroft. Greg alone wouldn't have been so bad, but the government official was terrifying.

Sherlock got back to his feet and went straight into the bedroom, beginning to throw things into a rucksack.

Shaking his head, John took everything right back out. "Someday I'm going to teach you how to pack."

"Why bother? I have you to do it."

He went back into the sitting room and grabbed Billy. He dumped it in Mycroft's lap. "He gets that back when he learns to behave."

The government official looked at the orange dinosaur with disdain. It was clear that he wasn't impressed. Ozzy whimpered.

"I'll take care of Billy," Greg offered, rightly interpreting the Irishman's distress. He picked up the toy and set it on his knee.

"Do not mollycoddle my dog while we are gone, Geoff," Sherlock called out, grabbing his jacket off the table.

"It's Greg, you wanker!" the DI called out loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear it downstairs. "Insufferable prat. Sorry, Myc, but he is."

Mycroft shrugged, "Bye then, little brother!" He yelled after the retreating detective.

"Just keep my dog in line, Mycroft!" Then he was out the door.

John rolled his eyes apologetically from the door. "See you in a few days."

When it was just Mycroft, Greg and Ozzy, the government official stood and approached the cage. "I suppose you'll need fed and watered. You're so much trouble."

"I'm sorry, sir," Ozzy whispered.

As Mycroft unlocked the gate his phone beeped. Glancing at it, he sighed. "Seems you were trouble last night after we went to bed."

"I didn't mean to be, sir."

Mycroft slammed his hand down on the cage, making it rattle. "It doesn't matter! Now get out and go kneel in the corner."

With Mycroft stood beside the entrance of the cage, Ozzy didn't want to move. He didn't know what would happen to him if he got close to the older man.

"I suggest you do it," Greg said quietly. "You really don't want to see my boyfriend angry."

Ozzy whimpered and edged nearer the opening of the cage.

Still taking too long, Mycroft reached in and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out. He shoved him over the cage, and cuffed his wrists behind his back before throwing him towards the corner.

Ozzy stumbled and whimpered.

"Now kneel!" Mycroft barked.

Without hesitation, Ozzy complied. He hadn't been afraid of the corner, after all, just being near Mycroft.

"What would you like for breakfast, Myc? I'll cook," Greg offered.

Mycroft wandered to Greg and pecked him on the nose. "Let's go out."

"What about him?" He inclined his head in Ozzy's direction.

"He can stay in the cage at the club while we're gone."

"You're going to let Anthea watch him, aren't you?"

Ozzy's back stiffened. Anthea was as bad as, if not worse than Mycroft.

"Precisely," the government official agreed.

Mycroft sipped at his coffee. "Where shall we go?" He asked.

Greg grabbed his own jacket and slipped into it. "Route 66."

"You want an all day breakfast."

Greg grinned, "Got to babysit that all day. Will need the energy."

"I suppose it needs clothes. There's no getting around it if we're taking it out," Mycroft mused.

"I know where John keeps them. I'll be right back, babe."

Mycroft walked back and forth behind Ozzy, he definitely wasn't pacing, Sherlock did that, and watched the back of the Irishman's head. "I advise you to be on your best behaviour for Anthea. She's not as forgiving as I am."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

Mycroft grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, Ozzy flinched in surprise. "Say that and mean it."

"Yes, sir. I'll behave for Miss Anthea. I promise, sir."

At the sound of Greg returning with clothes, Mycroft released Ozzy. "Take the clothes from Gregory and get dressed, then stand in the corner." He slipped the key into the cuffs and shoved him towards the DI.

"Yes, sir," he repeated again. He didn't plan to do anything to anger Mycroft. Ozzy took the clothes and rushed to get dressed as fast as possible, as far away from Mycroft as possible, then he knelt back in the corner, hoping he had pleased the government official.

Mycroft just ignored him. "Can you phone a car, Gregory? I'll pack him a few things up for while we're away. Did my little brother mention how long they'll be?"

Greg shook his head. "Really, Myc? Did you just ask that?"

"Hope springs eternal," Mycroft said with a sigh. "You're right, I should have known better." He stormed up behind the kneeling Irishman. "On your feet!" He barked.

When Ozzy had got up, Mycroft snapped a leash to his collar.

"Be good for Gregory." He handed the leash to his boyfriend, then went to pack some of Ozzy's things.

The former consulting criminal dropped his eyes to the floor and tried to stand perfectly still lest he do something wrong.

"Come on," Greg tugged the leash towards the car that had beeped to notify them of its arrival.

Mycroft wasn't far behind them with a bag for Ozzy. The three of them went down to the waiting car quickly and got into the back.

"You aren't going on your knees while you are wearing John's clothes,” Mycroft informed the Irishman.

Ozzy looked up from the seat he sat in, it was clear he would rather be on the floor. "Yes, sir."

"Hold your hands out."

When he did, Mycroft snapped cuffs around them. Ozzy bit his lip and ducked his head. He missed Sherlock and even John. He didn't think he had done anything bad enough to warrant him being left in Mycroft's care. He hated it and they had only been gone 10 minutes. He didn't know why he needed to be cuffed, he daren't try anything and the idea wouldn't even cross his mind anymore.


	20. Anxious

They arrived at the Diogenes in short order and Mycroft was first out of the car. Greg got out, tugging on Ozzy's leash. They were around the back, so out of sight of anyone.

The government official unlocked the door to the room where the cage was and Greg dragged Ozzy through. Anthea was sat in a chair in the corner. She stood upon their entrance. "Good morning, sir."

"Hello, my dear." He took the leash from Greg's hand and placed it in Anthea's.

She gripped the leash tightly and hauled Ozzy close. "Be a very good doggie for me," she warned the trembling Irishman. "I don't want to have to report bad behaviour to Mister Holmes."

"No, ma'am," he shook his head, his teeth chattering.

"Kneel."

Ozzy glanced at the floor, kneeling in John's clothes held a different meaning than kneeling in a car or Baker Street, but the club was spotless. 

Mycroft grinned at the reaction his PA got from him. "You're amazing," he dropped his hand on her shoulder. "We are going out for breakfast."

"Have fun, sir."

Greg and Mycroft departed arm in arm, the DI giving Anthea a little wave on the way out. It felt good leaving all responsibility behind for a bit.

The moment the door closed behind the couple, Anthea gave Ozzy a shove towards the cage. "Get in and eat the food I've left for you."

Ozzy whimpered again and lowered his eyes. "Yes, ma'am." He scrambled into the cage. It was so much smaller than the one he had at home. He found a tray with a bowl of plain oatmeal in it and a glass of orange juice. With resignation, he began eating.

Anthea made a point to ignore him, focusing on the paperwork she had in front of her.

Ozzy used his cuffed wrists to hold the glass, even though he was trembling slightly. He managed to drink half of the juice, then he dropped the glass as he was trying to set it down. Immediately, he looked up at the PA in alarm.

Anthea was on her feet at once. "Dog!" she snapped.

Ozzy flinched, the back of his head hitting the cage. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"You have gotten Doctor Watson's clothes dirty."

Ozzy whimpered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I could..."

"Shut up," she hissed. "Put your hands through the bars."

Not wanting to upset her further, Ozzy did just that.

She undid the cuffs. "Get undressed."

With shaking hands, Ozzy complied. He didn't like the idea of being naked in front of Anthea, but he didn't have any choice.

"Hands," she demanded immediately once he had pushed the clothes through the bars. She turned her nose up at his caged cock while she spoke.

He was cuffed again the second he put his wrists through the bars. The only difference this time was the fact that Anthea had cuffed his wrists around a bar. He was stuck at the edge of the cage, on his knees.

Ozzy made a whining sound deep in his throat. He didn't think he could survive until his Master came home. This was simply too much. Even if he had Billy, it would be more than he could handle.

When she returned, she gave him a scornful look and resumed her seat. Her mobile was soon in her hands and she was tapping away.

Ozzy rattled the cuffs once and then gave up, collapsing as far back as he could.

Anthea sighed and lowered her phone. “I'm sure I can find something to occupy you if you're bored.” It sounded distinctly like a threat.

"No, ma'am."

"No?"

Ozzy bit his lip and stared at the floor.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am.” He didn't want to anger the woman anymore than he had already.

She kicked the cage, making it rattle. "Then be quiet and don't distract me again."

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated, ducking his head even lower. He made sure not to rattle the cuffs against the bars as he moved.

He didn't know how long he knelt there, time passed by so slowly. Eventually, though, he had to move because he was incredibly uncomfortable. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but still rattled the cage.

It was at that exact point the door went. His head snapped up and he saw Mycroft. Immediately he ducked his head again.

"What did it do?" The government official asked.

"It made a mess of Doctor Watson's clothes. They should be dry by now." She kicked Ozzy's cage to indicate her disgust.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he whimpered. He just wanted Sherlock back. He wanted Sherlock and he wanted to go home.

Mycroft shook his head. Ozzy hadn't been able to behave for even a short time. "Leave him there. You can take the afternoon off." He grinned in Anthea's direction.

"If it's all the same, sir, I'd like to get through the rest of this."

"Still, I shall take over the responsibility for Ozzy. You are relieved of that duty."

"Yes, sir." She gathered up the paperwork and headed off to her own office.

"Make a habit of upsetting people at the moment, dog?" Mycroft asked.

"No, sir," he whispered.

"I'll go get his clothes," Greg offered. He was glad he had the next few days off so he could help with Ozzy.

"No need. He won't be wearing them for a while."

Ozzy whimpered. "Sir, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Shut it, dog."

Mycroft removed Ozzy's handcuffs, then unlocked the cage. "Get out and go stand in the corner whilst I consider what to do with you."

Ozzy went straight to the corner. When he reached it he put his hands behind his head.

"Actually. Get on your knees."

Without complaint or protest, Ozzy dropped to his knees hard, bruising them on the hard floor.

Mycroft actually winced in sympathy. Then he called for Greg. When the DI appeared he pulled him down onto his lap.

"Do you plan on doing any actual work today?" Greg asked just before placing a kiss at Mycroft's temple.

Mycroft watched the back of Ozzy's head. "I don't know. There is nothing pressing for me to do right now."

"Good job I have nothing to do as well then."

"Keep your back straight!" Mycroft snapped at Ozzy, then he turned back to Greg. "How do you suggest we pass the time?"

Mycroft inclined his head. "I don't know. We could play with him."

Greg pouted. "I don't want to play with him. He always gets all the attention."

Mycroft snorted. "You haven't been speaking to John have you?"

"Ha! No, but I'm not surprised he feels the same way." Greg shrugged. "You and Sherlock do get distracted by Ozzy."

Mycroft shrugged. "He is a distraction."

"How long is a train to Devon?"

"About 2 hours as long as Sherlock doesn't blow it up."

Greg barked a laugh. "He won't, not with John on it. He wouldn't risk singeing a single hair on his head."

"He'd find another way." Mycroft let his head fall back and then glanced at the kneeling man in the corner. He was surprised that Ozzy hadn't moved an inch.

"Dog, make yourself useful. Go make tea," Mycroft ordered. He watched as Ozzy crawled over to the small kitchen area and then stood to wash his hands. The Irishman always washed his hands, John insisted on it.

As Ozzy reappeared with a tray, he knelt beside the government official in time for a knock at the door.

Anthea appeared, "Sir, you need to sign this." She handed over a few pieces of paper.

Instead of bowing his head properly, Ozzy made the mistake of glancing towards the papers. He only looked for a moment, but the damage had been done.

It was nothing important, Mycroft was sure, but that was beside the point. Mycroft reached out and grasped Ozzy by the hair. "What do you think you are doing?" He hissed. As Moriarty, Ozzy had had the talent for piecing the unimportant together to learn the bigger, more devastating truths. He couldn't risk that happening. "Did you read it?"

Ozzy was shaking in terror. "N-no, sir."

"Fetch the cuffs, Gregory. And a humbler."

Anthea stood to the side, watching on.

When the DI got back, he offered both items to Mycroft. The government official accepted the humbler. "Please cuff him, Gregory. I'll see to this." He waved the humbler in front of Ozzy's face.

With a whimper, Ozzy leant forward and put his hands behind him as Mycroft removed the cage from his cock. He hadn't deliberately looked at what Mycroft had been holding, it had just happened.

Soon enough, Ozzy found himself looking down at his cock and balls imprisoned in the humbler. He whimpered, wanting the thing off. He was left, face down on the floor as his hands couldn't hold him upright tied where they were.

Mycroft shook his head, then went back to signing the papers Anthea had brought. She took them when he was done and disappeared. Mycroft reached down and pulled Ozzy up by the collar. The former consulting criminal whimpered as he was pulled upright. "You're going to stay in trouble, aren't you?" The government official gave him a little shake.

"No, sir. Please-"

"It required a yes or no answer, dog."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Of course you are. You're always sorry." Mycroft let go, pushing him so he fell on his side.

Greg handed his boyfriend a mug of tea, then took a sip of his own.

Ozzy pushed himself back onto his front again, head low. He thought he had wanted Sherlock earlier, but now he needed him more. He felt like crying, but didn't want to call further attention to himself. Instead, he bit his bottom lip hard and closed his eyes tightly.

Mycroft opened his laptop with a sigh. "I do have some matters to attend to after all, Gregory. Don't feel you have to keep me company all day. I could be quite some time."

Greg shrugged and dug the toe of his shoe into Ozzy's side. absently. "I don't know. I can watch this thing for you. I don't mind."

Mycroft smiled sadly.

"Anyway, I thought you said you had nothing to do today?"

Mycroft shrugged, an unusual movement of the older man. "There's always something, as my little brother often remarks."

Greg got up and grabbed Ozzy by the arm and dragged him to the corner, out of Mycroft's way.

Ozzy kept his head ducked, looking away from the older man. Greg always seemed so much sterner when Mycroft was around. The Irishman could only breathe a sigh of relief when the DI released him and he could slump to the floor in the corner, relieving the pressure on his bollocks.

"Comfortable dog?" Greg asked.

Ozzy whimpered, pressing himself into the corner as much as he could.

The DI gripped his hair in his hand and pulled him upright.

The humbler pulled on Ozzy's bollocks painfully and he let out a groan.

"Don't even think of complaining. Now I asked you a question!"

"No, sir," Ozzy thought it best that he didn't lie.

"Good." Greg patted the back of Ozzy's head. A sound from behind him made him turn and look at his boyfriend. "What's wrong?"

Mycroft had his phone out, reading a text. "I have to place an urgent call."

The government official stepped out of the room, but the DI didn't let Ozzy's head go.

When Mycroft stepped back in he was looking a bit pissed off.

"What is it?"

"My baby brother has broken into Baskerville."

"What's Baskerville?"

The government official pressed his hand over his eyes, trying to fend off a pending headache. "A high security test facility."

"Testing... on what?"

Mycroft glanced at Ozzy. "Not in front of that."

Greg tied the leash off at a hook on the wall and took off out the room after Mycroft.

In the other room Mycroft slumped down into a chair. "Testing on anything you can imagine. And quite a bit you can't."

"Military?"

Mycroft nodded once.

"How exactly did he break in?"

"Stole my ID."

"You have ID for an assumedly high security based military facility?"

Mycroft let his eyebrow raise and Greg sighed. "Fair enough."

When the government official didn't say anything more, Greg ventured another question. "Will you be going to Baskerville, then?"

He glanced at Ozzy. "No. You will be."

"What? But-"

"I am more likely to get called into work when my baby brother tries to bomb Devon."

"He wouldn't-"

"Just go and check on him. Please."

"What about John? Surely he has some authority here?"

"John was with him and 'pulled rank' apparently."

The DI laughed, "Sounds about right."

"It's not a laughing matter, Gregory," Mycroft chided.

The DI muffled his laughter. "Right. Sorry, Myc."

"You didn't sound sincere."

Greg snorted. "Probably because I'm not. He has John, he'll be fine."

"I do not trust the man in charge of Baskerville. Half a chance they would kidnap my brother to look how his 'Mind Palace' works."

"So why haven't they?"

"Because they probably haven't worked out it's my baby brother yet. It won't take them long."

"I don't know what good I can do, but I'll go where you tell me to. You know that."

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief.

"It can't be that-"

"It is. Now shoo, there's a train to Devon in 30 minutes."

"Holiday time then."

"Sorry ours got cancelled."

Greg smirked, "We were busy." With that, he turned on his heel and headed up the corridor.

Mycroft watched for a moment before turning back into his office where Ozzy was.

The Irishman noted there was only the sound of one set of footsteps in the room. He couldn't tell if it was Mycroft or Greg and the uncertainty terrified him. He knew it was Mycroft when his bollocks were kicked in the humbler. "Sir-"

"Quiet!"

Ozzy whimpered as quietly as he could, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. If that wasn't to be, he wished Greg would take Mycroft's place.

"Looks like you are going to be left with me. Seeing as your master has been a naughty boy." Mycroft smirked as he shoved Ozzy over.

With the realisation that he was left alone with the government official and would be for some time, Ozzy started to shake.

"Stop it!" Mycroft snapped. "If you're a good doggy you have nothing to fear. Isn't that fair?"

"Yes, sir," he whimpered. He may have said he agreed, but Ozzy didn't believe it. He was too afraid of Mycroft to think about it rationally.

"Kiss my feet."

Ozzy began to bow immediately, pressing his lips to Mycroft's shoes.

"Good dog," the government official patted his head. "That wasn't too hard, now, was it?"

"No, sir," the Irishman said. He would do anything to keep from angering Mycroft.

"Good." Mycroft bent down and pushed Ozzy's head to the floor. Then he removed the catch on the humbler and tugged his balls free. "Go to the kitchen, make me a coffee, I have things to do."

"Yes, sir."

Ozzy scrambled to his hands and knees and rushed to follow Mycroft's orders, glad to be free of the humbler. He hoped it wouldn't be going back on him any time soon. He just needed to be good. If he was good, Mycroft wouldn't think of making him uncomfortable, not if he was busy with other things.

The government official sat at the desk that took up space on one side of the room and pulled a laptop out of a drawer. He needed to re-familiarise himself with the research being done at Baskerville just to know what his brother might be getting involved with. He was confident that he could trust Ozzy in the other room on his own. The man was too terrified of everything, even more so at the moment.

When the former criminal mastermind had prepared Mycroft's coffee, he knee walked carefully with it, making sure not to spill a drop, and offered it to the government official.

Mycroft took the mug without a word and that was as good a response as the Irishman was likely to get.

Ozzy settled on his knees and put his hands behind his head.

"Corner," Mycroft said in a curt tone.

Without dropping his hands from his neck, Ozzy knee walked to the corner, feeling as though he had escaped something horrible.

The government official actually glanced up and smirked at the back of Ozzy's head as he settled in the corner.

Hours passed slowly for the kneeling Irishman. They blended one into another. He was just glad he hadn't drawn Mycroft's attention. He jerked in surprise when Mycroft's phone buzzed.

The government official answered and Ozzy could tell it was Greg on the phone because he sounded happy.

Anything that made Mycroft happy was good. Ozzy dared to relax a bit for the duration of the conversation.

"Have you found out what he is up to yet?"

Whatever Greg said made Mycroft laugh.

"Sounds about right, what did John say?"

Ozzy leaned his forehead against the wall in the corner and listened to the government official laughing. He couldn't remember ever laughing himself, not like that. He wondered what it felt like.

"He's been surprisingly good actually," Mycroft said after a moment.

At that, Ozzy was sure he was the one they were now talking about now, but he made sure not to react.

"I stuck him in the corner." Mycroft paced over to stand behind Ozzy.

The Irishman straightened up, correcting his posture as he continued to listen.

Mycroft ran his hand roughly through Ozzy's hair. "Are you being a good doggy?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered, hoping it wasn't rhetorical.

In response, Mycroft pulled his hair, bending his head back so he could look down into his eyes. "See. I told you, Gregory, he's behaving."

"I believe you," Greg laughed.

Ozzy was hoping he had done enough just to keep Mycroft happy.

Anthea entered the room, looking grim.

Mycroft frowned in her direction. "Gregory, I must ring off. Something appears to need to distract me."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's fine." He slipped his phone into his pocket. "What's the problem?"

"Major Barrymore requires your attention."

Immediately, Mycroft's headache spiked. "Watch this useless thing for me, Anthea," he said, rapping Ozzy hard on the top of the head. "I'll take the call in the other room."

"Yes, sir."

Anthea settled where she had been that morning.

The room was warm enough, but knowing the PA was there caused a chill to travel down Ozzy's spine. She still terrified him and he didn't really know why. He just knew she always seemed mad at him.

Anthea paid the former consulting criminal no mind while she sat tapping at her phone.

It didn't take long for her presence to get to the Irishman. He had to know where she was in the room and what she was doing. With that in mind, he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

Anthea was so intrigued in her phone she didn't even notice.

It wasn't until Mycroft came back in he realised his little brother's pet had moved. "Ozzy!" He barked.

The former consulting criminal jerked his head back around to face the corner, but he knew it was too little too late.

Mycroft paced across the room and took a deep breath. "What made you move?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"That didn't answer my question, dog."

"I was scared, sir," he answered after a moment.

Mycroft barked a laugh and glanced at his PA then back. "I've always known you were intelligent, doggie. Anthea is a formidable woman. That doesn't excuse your actions."

"No, sir," he agreed quietly.

"Sir, I didn't specify that he couldn't move," Anthea pointed out.

"No. But he knows the rules. Don't you, dog?"

"Yes, sir," Ozzy whimpered.

"There should be a posture collar here, if you would be so kind as to fetch it," Mycroft said to his PA.

"Of course, sir," she stepped across the room to the chest of drawers and began routing through it.

Ozzy didn't move as Mycroft buckled it around his throat. If he got away with nothing more than the collar, he would count himself extremely lucky.

Luck wasn't in his remit anymore.

He closed his eyes as Mycroft grabbed his arms and pulled them around behind him, cuffing them there and squeezing it tight.

As the cuffs bit into his wrists, Ozzy gave a whimper despite himself. He was more than used to being cuffed by now, but he still hated it. It just made him feel out of his depth and he hated himself for it. He felt the back of his collar snag as a leash was attached and dragged upwards. Mycroft tied it off to a hook in the ceiling.

Turning around, he smiled at Anthea. "Thank you. He should be less tempted to misbehave now."

"Of course, sir."

"Are you sure you do not want the afternoon off?"

Anthea shook her head, "Far too much to do here. But I shall get out of your way."

"You're not in my way, my dear."

She gave him one of her rare smiles. "I make that," she pointed at Ozzy, "nervous."

"That shouldn't be a consideration. He needs to become accustomed to your presence. This won't be the only time I need to bring him here, I'm sure."

Anthea smirked at the corner, but Ozzy didn't move. He was too scared to move.

"How is your brother?" She asked.

Mycroft just snorted. "Causing trouble, of course."

Anthea clamped her mouth shut against the snort that threatened to escape her. Her employer's brother was gifted at birth causing trouble and finding himself at the centre of it. "And Doctor Watson?"

"Right in the middle with him."

"Of course he is, sir."

Mycroft chuckled. "Have you had a drink, my dear?"

Anthea frowned as Mycroft went to the kitchen.

"You've never made me tea before."

"There's a first time for everything," Mycroft said from within the kitchen.

Anthea nodded absently as she stared at Ozzy.

The former consulting criminal stayed as still as was physically possible in his corner. He was too scared to move, Anthea was far too terrifying for a woman.

She walked over to stand behind Ozzy and plucked at the leash that held him upright. "Do you think this thing is worth all this trouble? I could dispose of him for you."

Mycroft didn't reply until he came out of the kitchen, he was smiling broadly when he did. "He's entertainment for my little brother and has actually been quite helpful."

"Oh, yes. He did save doctor Watson's life. It's difficult to believe, looking at him."

"I don't just mean that. He's a match to Sherlock's intelligence. He keeps him distracted when John has to sleep."

Anthea smirked at that and gripped Ozzy's hair in her hand.

He trembled, knowing the only thing keeping her from killing him was Mycroft Holmes.

"If Sherlock ever changes his mind, my offer stands," Anthea told her employer.

Mycroft snorted and placed a mug of tea beside Anthea's phone that was on the table. "Leave it be, my dear, come and take a seat."

He knew why she had made the offer and it wasn't due to some dark blood thirst. She hadn't enjoyed being forced to standby whilst Moriarty played his games anymore than Mycroft had and she didn't want to risk it happening again.


	21. Back Home

Ozzy woke up with a jerk, the back of his head hitting the top of the cage, to the sound of footsteps. He looked over and saw Greg come in. "Morning doggie!" He said, grinning.

Ozzy's wrists were cuffed behind him and through the cage bars. He had no idea the DI was home - he'd been gone days, with Master.

"Morning, sir," the Irishman said quickly, hoping to avoid giving offence by staying quiet.

The DI intended to release Ozzy from the cage, but he walked over to look out the window first. It looked to be a bright day. "Your Master is on his way home, doggie."

Ozzy didn't know what to do or say to that, he was just internally very happy.

At the sound of Mycroft entering the room, Greg turned from the window and greeted him with a broad smile. "Myc, don't send me chasing after your brother again. I was gone far too long."

Mycroft laughed. "You needed a holiday."

"I nearly got killed by a rabid dog."

"Exactly, a holiday. Are you going to let that thing out?" He jerked his head in the cage's direction.

"Yes and don't try to change the subject," Greg said as he unlocked the cuffs that bound Ozzy's wrists. "Unlike John and Sherlock, I don't actually enjoy nearly getting myself killed."

Ozzy kept quiet as he rubbed his wrists. If there had been danger, he should have been there to protect his Master.

"I don't think they enjoy-"

Greg cut the government official off with a laugh. "Oh they do. They so do."

"Maybe you're right. Come out, dog, go to the toilet."

Ozzy crawled out of the cage that the DI had just opened and across the room as fast as he could, then he rushed to the bathroom, thankful he was allowed to use it without supervision now.

"Now make breakfast," Mycroft ordered when he reappeared.

"Yes, sir. What would you like?"

"Hmm..." the government official glanced at Greg. "Decisions, decisions."

The DI held up his hands in a warding gesture. "Don't look at me. I'm not really that hungry, although I am in desperate need of coffee."

"Make whatever you think I want," Mycroft said eventually. "And get Gregory coffee."

"Yes, sir." Ozzy nodded once and stepped into the kitchen. He was almost giddy. He had made it through the first few minutes of the day without making any mistakes and Greg had said Master and John would be home soon. He was going to be on his best behaviour so Sherlock would be pleased with him when he arrived home. If he wasn't in a bad mood already. Ozzy shook that thought out of his head, he had to be good no matter what. He proceeded to make coffee, then he cooked eggs, bacon and toast for both men and placed them on the table. He bit his lip, then got out jam and added it to the table. "Sir?" Ozzy called from the door.

Mycroft looked up. "What?" He snapped.

"Breakfast, sir," Ozzy whispered, cowering back.

“Put it on the table then go back to your corner.”

"Yes, sir." Ozzy settled on his knees in the corner, trying to figure out how to look suitably submissive without looking pathetic. He knelt upright, his hands behind his head.

Mycroft watched the back of Ozzy's head before sighing in annoyance. "Come here, Ozzy," he ordered, pointing beside him after changing his mind.

Cautiously Ozzy crawled across the room and knelt beside the government official. To his surprise, Mycroft began hand feeding him off of his own plate. It was the last thing he had expected. "Thank you, sir," Ozzy whispered when the plate was empty.

Mycroft nodded once. "You've been good these last few days. Go and make yourself a cup of tea. You can even have sugar if you like."

That was even more unexpected than being fed by Mycroft. Ozzy ducked his head and said, "Thank you, sir," then he started to make tea. He felt almost giddy at the prospect.

He made it as quick as possible, hoping it wasn't Mycroft's way of playing games with him. The fact he had been fed something other than oatmeal should have made him realise. The first sip of tea was wonderful and settled in his stomach comfortably. He still couldn't believe Mycroft had allowed him such a luxury. He felt awkward but stayed in the kitchen while he drank it.

That was when he heard Sherlock and John.

Ozzy almost dropped his tea, he was so excited that his Master was home. It was all he could do to stay where he was and not rush to greet him. He downed the tea as quickly as possible and then crawled into the office again.

Sherlock had collapsed in the sofa, John on his lap.

"Hi Ozzy," he said dismissively.

The Irishman felt crushed by such a casual greeting and he crawled into the corner where he curled up in a dejected heap. He hadn't known what he had expected from the detective but that response hadn't been it.

"What have you been doing to him?" Sherlock asked his brother.

"Nothing. I just fed him bacon."

"Dog, get out of the corner."

Ozzy crawled forward, but he didn't know where to go or what to do with himself, so he stopped a couple of feet out.

"Here," Sherlock pointed at the floor beside him and he crawled over.

When Ozzy knelt up, the detective pushed his hand into his hair. The kneeling man let his eyes fell shut, grateful for his Master's touch. He felt grounded and safe again for the first time in days.

"Seriously, brother-mine, what have you done to my dog?"

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. "I'm not repeating myself, Sherlock. He's been rather well behaved."

John gave Ozzy a considering look. "Maybe he missed you." He shrugged at the way the other three men looked at him. "Well, Sherlock is the one that normally looks after him."

At that, Ozzy looked up.

"You missed me, boy? Is that why you're acting weird?"

"Yes, Master," he nodded.

Sherlock was actually quite surprised by that admission. He had never expected that level of loyalty from the man. He ruffled the former consulting criminal's hair. "Well I'm back now, boy."

"You haven't eaten today, Sherlock," the doctor couldn't help but point out.

Ozzy almost offered to cook him something, then he remembered he wasn't supposed to think for himself. He bit his lip, hoping John would suggest it.

Even so, both Holmses noticed his eagerness.

Mycroft shifted where he sat. "Interesting, wouldn't you say, brother-mine?" After a moment Mycroft inclined his head.

"Dog, go and fetch some breakfast for Sherlock and John. The same as what we had will be fine."

Ozzy glanced up at Sherlock and waited for his permission.

"Go," he ordered.

"Yes, Master." Ozzy rushed to the kitchen and started cooking, but with much more enthusiasm than he had had when cooking for Mycroft and Greg.

"Do not drop anything!" Mycroft yelled through.

The former consulting criminal slowed down slightly to make sure he didn't do just that. Soon, he had breakfast on the table for his master and John and he crawled into the living room to let them know.

Sherlock just nodded, but John got to his feet and dragged the detective through to the other room, he'd make him eat if he had to.

Once again, Ozzy crawled to the corner and knelt up, but he knelt facing in towards the kitchen. He wanted to be sure Master actually ate.

Sherlock pushed his plate away, barely having eaten a bite. John pushed it right back in front of him. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sherlock-"

"Little brother, I suggest you eat, John looks exhausted and I don't trust him right now."

"No one asked you Mycroft!"

"That's it." John stood up and came around to sit next to his boyfriend. "Open," he ordered, holding up a bite of toast to his lips.

Sherlock ate it without protest.

Ozzy ducked his head from the corner and bit his lip. He wasn't happy to be ignored, but he was content.

Sherlock looked over at his toy. "Did my brother feed you, doggy?"

"Yes, master." Ozzy was pleased that his Master had asked.

When John was finally happy with the amount of food Sherlock had eaten, the two of them adjourned to the living room where Mycroft and Greg were still waiting.

"Ozzy, join us," the detective called out as he took a seat in his leather chair.

Ozzy crawled over immediately and settled in a ball at the detective's feet.

On a whim, Sherlock propped his feet up on the Irishman's back. "You really didn't need to send Lestrade chasing after us, Mycie."

"Sherlock, you broke into Baskerville!"

The detective snorted. "Technically I didn't. I had ID and people let us in."

"You had my ID and they let me in. They had no idea it was my petulant brat of a brother."

"You're just finding something to complain about, Mycie. John and I were fine."

Ozzy shook his head. His Master had put himself in danger. He didn't like that thought.

Sherlock glanced down at his dog and rolled his eyes. "I don't much care for your opinion, Ozzy."

"Sorry, Master."

Mycroft sniffed. "You only scratched the surface of what goes on there, baby brother. I shudder to think what could have happened."

Sherlock snorted. "There's things going on there even Major Barrymore doesn't know about."

"Ha! Bluebell!" John said, then started laughing uncontrollably, then he sobered. "I feel sorry for her daughter."

Mycroft frowned, looking from one to the other. "You are insane."

It was the doctor's turn to snort. "I've been going out with your brother for how long? And you're only just saying this now?"

It was Greg's turn to laugh uproariously. "He got you, Myc."

Ozzy frowned. He didn't like the implication that John had to be insane to be with Master.

Mycroft caught the look and glared at him. "You've been a good dog these last few days. Sherlock has just pointed out that your opinion means nothing so stop listening to things that don't concern you."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy replied immediately, but it sounded a bit harder than he normally dared, especially with Mycroft in the room.

Sherlock noticed it immediately and moved his foot to Ozzy's hip, then he kicked out hard and Ozzy toppled over.

"Corner," Sherlock snapped at the Irishman. He watched him crawl to the corner and take up the proper position.

"Straighter!" Sherlock barked, hoping to put him on edge. It worked as Ozzy flinched and let out a broken whimper. Sherlock turned to John and gave him a wink. He was pleased with how readily Ozzy obeyed.

Mycroft frowned. "Your toy may obey your explicit orders, but his attitude leaves something to be desired. He was clearly commenting on our discussion by his body language."

"It must be hard."

All three faces turned to look at John.

"What? It must be. I hate Moriarty as much as the next man, but it must be hard for him to hear and not respond. He only wants to protect Sherlock."

In the corner, Ozzy wanted to cry. Someone understood him. He was so grateful that he wanted to crawl over and kiss the doctor's feet. He would like to know who Moriarty was though... or maybe not, it sounded like the guy wanted to hurt Master.

Greg looked at the back of Ozzy's head. "I hadn't thought of it that way. You're probably right John. It must be hard for him."

Mycroft snorted. "I don't care if it is."

"It doesn't matter either way, so long as he obeys me, big brother."

Mycroft shrugged. "I suppose you are right."

Sherlock grinned broadly. "I love it when you say that!"

"Don't get used to it, Sherlock."

The detective stuck his tongue out at his brother, then shifted in his chair so his legs were over the back of it and his head hung down from the seat, his curls brushing the floor.

"Bored Lock?" Mycroft asked sarcastically.

"Since you asked, yes!"

"Well you can always go back to Baker Street. I have things I need to do here."

"John, we've just been invited to be elsewhere. Wouldn't you say that was rude?"

The doctor snorted. "I think you started it is what I think. Come along, trouble. Collect your toy and let's get going."

"What if I don't want to go?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're more than welcome to stay, little brother, but you will help me with some admin work."

The younger Holmes made a face and got up. "I'd rather read John's blog."

"Oi!" the doctor complained.

"That was a complement!" The detective countered.

"No it wasn't." John got up himself and pushed Sherlock towards the corner.

"Ozzy, fetch Billy and put some clothes on."

"Yes, sir," the Irishman agreed quickly, then he crawled to his clothes and started putting them on. Once he was dressed, he got off his knees and grabbed Billy from the floor. Then he went and stood beside Sherlock, head down.

"One of my cars is waiting to take you home," Mycroft said, his mind obviously already on other weighty matters.

Sherlock shook his head and grabbed his pet by the scruff of the neck, leading him out the door.

John waved a goodbye to Mycroft and Greg. "Thanks for everything. We'll talk later." He ran to catch up with the other two men, then climbed into the car.

Mycroft sighed in relief. "Whenever he's around it's like I'm 17 at home, waiting and waiting and waiting for mummy's car in the drive while he trashes my bedroom."

Greg laughed. "And you love him anyway."

"Yes. I do."

The DI moved around behind his boyfriend and started massaging his shoulders. "Well, let me help you relax before you get to work."

"Mmm, that's good."

Greg chuckled. "I know." He pushed his thumbs into some knots and pressed a kiss to the top of Mycroft's head.

"What do you think about Ozzy, really?"

"I think," Greg worked on a particularly tight knot, "that you don't need to think about him right now."

"I think... I think you are probably right."

"I'm always right."

* * *

Before Ozzy could kneel in the back of the car that was waiting for them, Sherlock caught his collar and pushed him onto a seat.

The Irishman's eyes went wide, but he didn't say anything. After so long, it felt odd to actually sit on the seat.

"Don't think it's for your benefit, boy," Sherlock said, dismissively. "I'll not have you messing those clothes up, they are John's. I still haven't got around to getting you your own."

Ozzy nodded. "Yes, Master." At least that made sense. He couldn't have imagined any other reason for being allowed to sit on the seat. Mycroft had done the same with him days ago.

"Have you thought about when you are going to get him clothes?"

Sherlock shrugged one shoulder. "Not really, no."

"Why not do it now?" John asked. "I'm not exactly thrilled with him wearing my clothes."

"Fine," Sherlock replied, half moaning, half glaring.

"I will come with you. Happy?"

Sherlock grinned. "Ok."

Ozzy didn't know what to think. The idea of having clothes of his own was so very odd.

"He won't need anything fancy," John pointed out. "Actually, I could do the shopping and spare you the misery."

At that, Sherlock’s eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, you prat. Really."

"Yes!" He tipped to the side and rested his head in John's lap.

Ozzy envied the way John could make Sherlock happy with so little effort. He wished he could do the same, but knew that wasn't his job.

When they reached Baker Street, Sherlock opened the front door. "Up you go, boy. Go to your dog bed."

"Yes, Master."

John called Sherlock back. "If I'm going shopping, I need a kiss to fortify me." He went up on his toes and kissed the detective before pulling away.

Sherlock pouted. "I wanted a snog."

John snorted, not just at what the sulky brat wanted, but the way he had said it. He looked around, then back at his boyfriend. "Come here you." John then proceeded to snog Sherlock senseless right there on the pathway. He didn't let him go until Sherlock was struggling for air. "Happy now?"

The detective nodded once, dumbly.

"Good." John turned his boyfriend around so he was aimed towards the door and gave him a shove. "Go on up and start an experiment. I'll try not to be too long."

When Sherlock reached the flat, Ozzy was knelt on his plastic bed in the corner. It was about time he had something a little more comfy. He went to the window and yelled out at John. "Oi Watson! Get him a softer bed while you're gone."

John waved up at him in acknowledgement.

Inside the flat, Sherlock spun about, deciding what to do next. "You don't have to kneel, boy. Curl up if you like."

"Yes, Master."

With that, Sherlock went through to the kitchen to find his experiment.

Ozzy would have preferred to sit with his legs crossed, but he hadn't been given that option. Instead, he curled up so he could watch his Master, but Sherlock didn't reappear. Ozzy heard clattering in the kitchen and knew he wouldn't be seeing Master for a while. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep.

In the kitchen, Sherlock lit his Bunsen burner and started heating a pink substance in a beaker. It reacted much more violently than he had expected and caused the beaker to explode, the chemical going everywhere.

Ozzy couldn't just ignore it. He leapt to his feet and ran to the kitchen. "Master, are you okay?"

Sherlock was spluttering by the kitchen door, waving his hand around clearing the smoke.

"Master?"

"Yes, dog. I'm fine."

Ozzy bit his lip. His Master didn't look fine. "Can I help, Master. Please?"

"Help with what?"

Ozzy pouted. "Whatever you need, Master. Anything. Please."

The detective frowned and then huffed in annoyance as he heard the flat door open.

"Sherlock!" The doctor barked from behind him.

Ozzy cringed back, scared he'd be blamed somehow.

"Ozzy, open the windows," the doctor ordered. "This place needs airing out, then get some towels so we can clean up this mess."

"Yes, sir," he nodded once and disappeared to do as he was told.

Sherlock yelped as the doctor grabbed him by the ear.

"Shower. Now." John dragged him to the bathroom and shoved him into the shower clothes and all, then turned on the water. He knew it was safe to do so because Sherlock hadn't protested. Then he turned the water to cold and the detective made for the bathroom door. "No! You bloody well deserve to be cold."

Sherlock glared at John. "You're heartless." He started stripping out of his ruined clothes under the stream of cold water. "You should go make sure Ozzy doesn't get any of it on him."

"He is fine!" John snapped back. "I would trust him with an experiment more than you! Now stop bloody complaining because you will be the one to tell Mrs. Hudson."

"But, John-"

The doctor reached around the spray and shoved Sherlock into the wall.

"You will get on your knees and beg her to forgive you, if that is what it takes."

"Don't say that where he can here you. You'll undermine my authority."

"But you'll do it."

"Fine."

"I'm serious, Sherlock," John hissed, struggling to work out how the detective wasn't noticing.

"I know you are." Sherlock would have tried to get away, but he didn't want to risk slipping and breaking his neck. "But so am I. I can't have Ozzy seeing me being manhandled."

John snorted and pushed him away. "It's got fuck all to do with the dog, he's clearing up your mess." With that he turned on his heel with a stomp and stormed from the bathroom.

Turning off the taps, Sherlock stepped out of the shower. He left his wet clothes behind, dried off and slipped into their bedroom to get dressed. He made sure to put on his aubergine shirt since Mrs. Hudson liked to see him wear it.

John didn't even speak to him as he went through the flat, but his glare was obvious enough.

It was clear John was pissed off so Sherlock sighed and headed out the door.

Ozzy watched his Master go, then returned to cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. He was careful of both the glass and the chemical. He didn't know what the pink stuff was, he was just glad it hadn't hurt his Master. He cleared it all up in minutes and then cautiously appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. He knew John was mad with Master.

"Don't look so nervous," John told Ozzy. "You aren't expected to keep Sherlock in line and you did a good job cleaning up the kitchen."

"Yes, sir," he said, not trusting the words for a moment.

"Come over here, curl up," John ordered, pointing to the soft square furry bed he had brought back for Ozzy.

The Irishman followed orders, still half expecting to be blamed some way. Still, the bed was comfortable and he found himself relaxing.

The sound of footsteps running up the stairs and the yells of Mrs. Hudson made John chuckle until Sherlock made it to the flat. Then he made sure he had a straight face.

Ozzy was completely confused and it didn't get any better when his master declared, "That woman is demon possessed."

John just glared at him.

"John, I've said I'm-"

"No you haven't." He got to his feet and ran up the stairs to the spare room.

With a huff, the detective followed.

Ozzy felt as if he had seen something he shouldn't have, so he made himself into a tighter ball and waited.

Upstairs, Sherlock approached the doctor, feeling wronged.

"Don't even go there, Sherlock."

"John, I've told you-"

"Shut up. I did nothing to 'undermine' your authority and even if I did, it wouldn't bloody matter. He worships the ground you walk on!"

"How can you, John Watson, be jealous of that dog in there, curled up on a dog bed, of all things?"

"I'm not! I'm pissed at you trying to make me feel guilty when you have just blown up our kitchen!"

"I wasn't!" Sherlock crossed his arms. "I was just reminding you to keep your voice down."

"Sherlock what do you seriously think would happen if we had this conversation in front of your pet?"

The detective frowned, thinking.

"Exactly," John snapped. "Fuck all. He is broken, Sherlock, and doesn't care."

For a long moment, Sherlock didn't say anything. When he finally did, it was to offer a grudging, "Right."

"Is that all you can say, 'right'?"

"I've admitted you were right and I was wrong. What more do you want?"

"How about an apology?"

"For what?"

John closed his eyes and sighed. "You are bloody unbelievable."

He pushed past the detective and headed back down the stairs.

The detective looked down the stairs, wondering where he had gone wrong this time. Taking the steps two at a time, he followed.

"Ozzy, get in your cage," John ordered walking into the sitting room.

The former consulting criminal glanced at Sherlock as if for permission. Through fear of reprisals, the detective nodded once.

The Irishman watched the other two men with some sense of trepidation. He didn't like them arguing.

"Now!" John snapped.

With a small whimper, he shuffled across the room to the cage.

John dragged the soft bed across the room and shoved it inside the cage before Ozzy reached it.

Ozzy was too shaken to say thank you, but he was grateful for the dog bed nonetheless.

John locked the cage behind him as Sherlock stood at the door sheepishly.

"What did Mrs. Hudson say?"

"It doesn't bear repeating. Her words were quite colourful." He gave a dramatic shudder. "I'm sorry, John, there won't be any scones for at least a week."

"For you maybe," the doctor snorted. "She always feels bad for me."

"I know! How does that work?"

"Because you are a prick."

Sherlock tried a smile. "I'm your prick, though," he said hopefully. He couldn't tell by the doctor's expression if it worked. When John didn't react at all, he knew he had won that round. He glanced at Ozzy who had curled up in the corner of his cage, pretending to ignore them. "What are you thinking, dog?"

"Master? I'm just glad you didn't get hurt. I was... scared."

"Right," Sherlock nodded once.

"He's fine, Ozzy, it's just his pride."

Sherlock snorted at that. "John is quite correct, dog."

That admission made the doctor smile and he hugged Sherlock. "Git."

"Just so."

John grabbed the detective by the hand and dragged him towards their bedroom.


	22. Proximity

It was several hours later that the pair of them returned to the sitting room. Ozzy was fast asleep in his cage.

Both John and Sherlock were in much better, more relaxed moods. The detective walked over to Ozzy's cage and opened it without saying a word. The former consulting criminal stayed asleep as the cage opened.

"He's tired. Wonder what my brother has done to him."

"It couldn't be too much. Mycroft said he behaved rather well."

"Hm." Sherlock shrugged and gave the cage a small shake.

Ozzy jerked awake, far more accustomed to waking up like that now than any other way. "Master?"

"Why so tired, dog?" the detective asked.

Ozzy bit his lip. "I couldn't rest without you home, Master."

"Did Mycroft keep you up late?"

"No, Master. I meant I was worried about you."

"Told you so," John said with a smirk. "He worships you."

"He's further gone than I had calculated," Sherlock admitted.

John grinned, loving it when he was right.

"Get out of the cage then, Ozzy," the detective ordered.

The Irishman crawled out of the cage and waited for his next orders. He was just glad that John and his master weren't fighting anymore.

"You still tired?" Sherlock asked him.

Ozzy frowned. "No, Master."

"Is that a lie?"

"No, Master. Honest."

The detective reached down and ran his hand through Ozzy's lengthening hair. "We need to do something about your hair, dog. It's got far too long."

"Sorry, Master."

"Don't you like it like that, Lock?"

The detective frowned.

"Well you can't grab him by it if it's short."

The detective wove his fingers in Ozzy's hair and tugged. "You make an excellent point, John. Perhaps a bit of length is a good thing. What do you think dog?"

"Master?"

"Of your long hair. Want to keep it?"

"If you prefer it, Master."

Sherlock chuckled. "Excellent answer, dog."

By this point John had sat down with his laptop on his lap. "Sherlock, there's a couple of cases here Ozzy could take a look at."

"Would you like that, Ozzy? You could work with me and John?"

"Yes, Master!" It was the most hopeful he had felt in ages.

Sherlock sat in his chair and held his hand out. The doctor put his laptop on his lap. "Come and kneel here Ozzy."

The former consulting criminal rushed over and knelt at Sherlock's feet, eager.

The detective stretched his legs out and used one hand to scroll through the emails, the other fell in Ozzy's hair.

John could see both geniuses becoming absorbed in the case. He smiled to himself, then went to make tea for them. As he thought about it, he pulled three mugs down out of the cupboard rather than two and set the kettle.

Sherlock took a mug from John absently. Ozzy was so surprised at being offered tea that he simply gaped at the doctor.

"Take it, boy," John grumbled.

Hesitantly, the former consulting criminal leant forward and took the mug. He looked down into the mug at the tea and felt warm inside. He felt so happy he could almost cry.

John watched him for a moment and then took a seat in his armchair. As he glanced at the detective he realised that Sherlock had noticed it too.

Ozzy definitely wasn't the person they had first kept down in the basement flat, not anymore. He didn't even seem to remember that let alone his life before that.

The detective patted Ozzy on the head, then directed his attention back to the laptop. "Do you see any points of interest, doggie?"

Across the room, the doctor snorted.

"What?"

"Nothing," he sniggered. "Carry on, babe."

Sherlock gave his boyfriend a curious look, then, shaking his head, returned to the case.

"Yes, Master," the former consulting criminal nodded.

“Where?”

"The paint, Master. It's not right."

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it took Sherlock a moment to catch on to what he meant. "Very good, dog."

Ozzy grinned, a genuine smile on his face.

Sherlock flicked through some of the pictures that had come through in an email. Then started typing.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Replying."

John flew to his feet and snatched the laptop off him. "No, no, no. I'll handle that."

Ozzy looked up at the doctor, surprised.

"Remember what happened last time, babe," John said darkly.

Sherlock's bottom lip thrust out.

"Don't look at me like that, you clearly like this case which is why you tried to reply, you don't want to offend whoever is on the other end."

It was nearly impossible, but Sherlock managed to smile and pout at the same time. Sherlock realised then and there that Ozzy needed to get used to the way he was with John and the relationship he had with the doctor. They couldn't change for him. To that end, Sherlock got up and crossed over to John and snogged him, taking his time and enjoying it.

Once John had replied to the email he put the laptop back on the detective's lap. "Carry on then, babe."

The two geniuses kept at it for several hours, Ozzy drinking in every ounce of praise Sherlock gave him as well as the tea John continually laid out for them.

Sherlock clapped his hands when he sent the information that was needed to the DI. "Ozzy, what would you prefer as a reward, sleeping upstairs on your own, or in our room?"

As much as the idea of sleeping in his own room should have appealed to him, Ozzy didn't want to be separated from his master by so much distance. "In your room, please, Master."

Part of Sherlock had been hoping his dog would choose that option. "Why?"

"Because you've been gone for so long, Master."

John tossed the Union Jack pillow at Sherlock. "He can't sleep in our room every night, remember. I have my limits."

"Well, are you planning on doing what we did an hour ago tonight?"

John inclined his head. "Maybe."

"Sorry, dog. You can sleep upstairs."

Ozzy wilted visibly. Much to the doctor's surprise, he felt the tiniest bit guilty for that. "You'll get to sleep in our room soon, Ozzy," John promised. "Tell you what, Ozzy, be a good boy and you can sleep in our room tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

John looked around and found Billy. He picked the orange dinosaur up and handed it to Ozzy.

It was obvious to Sherlock that this wasn't something they could argue over in front of Ozzy. It needed to be private when they discussed him.

The detective stood and walked over to the window to look out on Baker Street. The cold cases had been nice, but he needed something more interesting to occupy his mind.

"Sherlock, we only got back this morning," John knew exactly what his boyfriend was thinking.

"I don't care, John. I'm bored!"

"Typical," the doctor said with an exasperated smile. "Still, you're a grown up. Find something to do."

"I am. I'm finding a case."

"No, you're not. You're staring out of the window."

"Same difference."

"Git." John reached for the newspaper and started looking for anything the detective might find interesting.

Ozzy curled back up on the floor, feeling highly disheartened by the hope of sleeping near Master to sleeping even further away than the cage was.

Sherlock turned around and noticed how Ozzy was looking at his cage longingly. "What's wrong, doggie?"

"Nothing, Master," he replied, curling in on himself again.

"Don't lie to me!" Sherlock barked, suddenly mad.

Ozzy looked towards John, then back to his master. "I... want to sleep in the cage," he said in a rush, then covered his head with his arms.

"Get in the corner!" Sherlock yelled pointing towards his punishment corner.

"Master-"

"Now!"

"What brought that on?" John asked, looking at Ozzy in surprise.

"Ingratitude."

"No, Master, honest."

"Shut up!" He hissed. "Corner. Now!"

"Why's he being like this?" John asked when Ozzy finally reached the corner.

"I have no idea," Sherlock said, pacing the width of the living room. He was still learning how to read Ozzy, but the Irishman reacted so unpredictably.

"I don't know," he repeated. "But it does not excuse the attitude nor the lying."

Ozzy whimpered from where he knelt in the corner, wanting to explain, but not daring to.

"You'll get your chance to explain later," Sherlock said dismissively. "But I really don't care."

At that, the former consulting criminal went still. Even though his master was angry, maybe he would change his mind. He couldn't stand for him to be angry.

Sherlock kept pacing until eventually he had had enough and skipped down the stairs.

"And there he goes. Congratulations, Ozzy. You've set the madman off." John threw himself down into his chair with a heavy sigh.

"I-"

"No!" John snapped. "I don't want to hear it. He can deal with you when he gets back."

Ozzy felt so bad that he considered running away for the briefest of moments, but he knew that would only make things worse.

A knock came at the door and John looked up just as Greg stuck his head in the door. "Hi, John."

"He went to you then."

"No." The DI slunk in and dropped into Sherlock's seat. "He went to Mycroft. Mycroft phoned me."

"At least I know where he is," John said, standing to go into the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Mm, yes, thanks." Greg looked at Ozzy and shook his head. "What did he do?"

John didn't reply until he returned from the kitchen. "Nothing serious. Just his attitude."

"What's wrong with Sherlock then?"

"He was bored and the dog pissed him off."

Greg laughed as he took the offered mug of tea. "How can he be bored already?"

John shrugged. "You know Sherlock."

It was several hours later that Sherlock reappeared. The look on his face meant business so Greg got to his feet. "I'll leave you to it."

Sherlock gave him a nod, but his attention was on Ozzy. "Dog, kneel in the centre of the room, hands behind your head."

With a whimper, Ozzy shuffled across the room to the centre, not being stupid enough to get to his feet to move. He knelt up as soon as he had reached the middle of the room.

"Explain yourself," the detective ordered as he paced away a few steps, then back.

Ozzy sniffed, ready to burst into tears. It had been a long few hours knelt in the corner. Not the kneeling, but the waiting, the anticipation had got to him.

"I told you to explain, not snivel."

"Yes, Master. It's just... The other room is so far away-"

"And?"

"Master... if I cannot be with you I would like to be close."

"He did have a choice of you or the spare room," John pointed out. The doctor tried very hard not to laugh at the look on Sherlock's face.

 

The detective looked as if he had been completely blindsided. "Of course I gave him that choice. Who could have predicted this?" He gestured at Ozzy wildly.

"You're the genius," John teased.

"Stay there," Sherlock ordered, dragging John from the room. He didn't start talking until they reached their room and shut the door. "This has come from him not wanting to sleep upstairs. It doesn't justify his attitude."

The doctor shrugged. "He didn't seem that bad to me."

"Remember what Mycroft said. We can't let him get away with anything."

John inclined his head. "I know."

"Not only did he argue with me, but he lied to me. However, I think a few hours in the corner and the rest of the evening contemplating his punishment should be punishment enough."

"You mean leave him in the middle of the room?"

Sherlock nodded once. "Then he can go back in the cage."

"With his imagination, he'll be dreading the worst the entire time," John agreed. "Makes sense."

"Imagination is not something I want to squash out of him. Do that, he loses his ability to work out things from deductions, but it would also make our job twice as hard when it comes to disciplining him."

They returned together to the living room, Sherlock telling Ozzy to stay as he was. "You argued with me and lied to me. That can't go unpunished."

"Yes, Master, I-"

"No. Be quiet. Your opinion is not needed right now."

"Sorry, Master," Ozzy tried to duck his head but Sherlock grabbed his hair in his hand.

"Position 1 means you what?"

"I stay upright, master."

"Then stay there!" Sherlock snapped.

Ozzy felt his lip tremble, but he maintained his posture, even when his master turned away from him and went into the kitchen to work on an experiment.

"Er, Sherlock, I would really rather you didn't do that right now."

The detective glanced at John. "Why not?"

"Because the kitchen has only just been... cleansed."

"But, John..."

"Sherlock," the doctor said in a stern tone.

"Fine. But have you found me another case?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe what?"

John snorted. "Greg's emailed. Something to do with a follow up on that Weems case a few weeks ago."

Sherlock grinned broadly. "Another murder. Excellent!"

"I didn't say it was a murder."

"You didn't have to."

"The scene has already been worked by Gregson's team. It happened two days ago. Greg's team just made the connection to the Weems case."

"Maybe Lestrade is coming out of his little box."

"Don't be mean. You owe him a lot."

"I owe him nothing. I give his boyfriend my dog for a few days, come home and it's broken."

"Your brother you mean."

"Don't remind me."

"Don't be an arse."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I still want to see the crime scene."

Sherlock had made a point to have this discussion with John while he was out of Ozzy's sight. That way he could watch him, waiting for a reaction. He was nearly impressed when he didn't get one.

Still keeping an eye on Ozzy, he pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Lestrade, demanding more information about the case.

Greg handled it perfectly. He ignored the eight consecutive texts and only answered the phone on the fourth call.

"You'd think you didn't want my help," Sherlock complained into the phone the moment Lestrade answered.

"And hello to you too."

"You don't need my help then?"

"Of course I do. I just wanted a little more adult time before dealing with you."

"I didn't need to hear that," Sherlock whinged.

"Adult time can mean, you know, acting like adults. It doesn't have to mean that."

"But you're at work!"

"Precisely. I needed adult time. Without the resident child. Now are you meeting me here or what?"

Sherlock stared at Ozzy, torn. "I would have to bring the dog."

"No one here knows what he looks like anyway," Greg said, amiably.

"He's been... naughty."

Greg snorted. "Put him in the cage then. I really need your help, mate."

"Fine. I'll be at the Yard in half an hour."

"Bring John," the DI added.

Sherlock rang off without saying goodbye. "John! Get your coat. Ozzy, get in your cage. The game is on!" Sherlock was out of the door, leaving John to lock Ozzy in the cage.

"You kneel in that corner, facing the wall in position one. Do not move."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy said with a sniff. John knew he would be too terrified to move. 

On the way out of 221, they asked Mrs. Hudson to let Jim out of the cage in the event of an emergency. After that, they got in a cab and were on their way.

"What did Mrs. Hudson say?" Sherlock asked, knowing how particular John was and exactly what he would do.

"She said ok. But she meant no."

"Hm. I suppose she can't be blamed," Sherlock admitted.

"Do you think?" the doctor asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sherlock had to duck the clip round the ear and John just snorted.

"You're such a brat sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Well, you do have your sweet moments."

"I'm not sweet."

"Yes, you are, babe."

"I'm not sweet!" Sherlock whacked the seat with his palms.

"And a brat," John was chuckling now.

"Shut up."

"What's this case about anyway?"

Sherlock handed John his phone so he could read the details Lestrade had finally sent via text.

The doctor came out of the message once he had read it and scrolled up. "Bloody hell, Lock, could you have sent him anymore?"

"I was bored!" The detective countered. "And he was ignoring me."

"I wonder why," John said wryly. He elbowed his boyfriend in a teasing fashion. "You should be nicer to Greg. At least once in a while. I know all the time would be asking too much."

"I am nice!"

John shook his head. "Not to him you're not. I bet you can't go all day without insulting him once."

Sherlock bit his lip, and looked at John from beneath lowered lashes. "If I succeed, do I get a prize?"

"Hmm..." John managed to look like he was pondering it. "Maybe you do."

"What?" Sherlock asked, excited.

"Not telling you."

"Not even a hint?" the detective leant towards John with his lips slightly parted.

"Oi!" John complained. "We're almost there. Get a grip on yourself."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and stumbled as the doctor pushed him out of the car.

"What's the hurry?"

"Did you, the ever impatient one, just ask me that?"

Sherlock sniffed as he wrapped his coat around himself tightly. "I'm never impatient, just... enthusiastic."

"Bollocks."

"Oi!" Greg yelled from the building he was stood beside, a clip board in his hand that he was signing. "Put each other down."

John grinned. "Hi, Greg. Thanks for calling us in. He was already climbing the walls." He looked at Sherlock expectantly.

The detective fought not to frown. The bet had been about him not insulting Lestrade. Why did he have to be polite too? "Yes, thank you," he finally said, begrudgingly.

"You only got back this morning!" Greg countered. "How the hell could he be that bored already?"

John shrugged and headed past the DI into the house.

Sherlock refrained from making a comment about the need of his superior mind for constant stimulation. He assumed that would be construed as an insult.

As Greg passed him and headed up the stairs, John turned back and glanced at his boyfriend. Sherlock looked like he was struggling already and the doctor found it adorable.

The detective noticed and rolled his eyes accordingly before he, too, started up the stairs. He set his annoyance aside and concentrated on the task at hand, looking for clues as he climbed the stairs.

John thought it best to leave him to it for a while.

***

It was late that evening that the pair of them managed to get back to Baker Street.

Sherlock was more than glad to see Ozzy knelt up in the corner of his cage, facing the corner.

He crossed over to the cage and rattled it. "Have you been a good boy all day?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, Master," came the immediate response. Ozzy's voice sounded rough from disuse and he was no doubt thirsty.

"Get yourself something to drink, doggie, then come out of the cage." Sherlock unlocked and opened the cage door.

Ozzy didn't, for one second, believe Master had forgotten his transgressions earlier that day, but he did what he was told, moving stiff muscles around so he could crawl to the water bottle hanging from the side of the cage.

He drank several swallows before climbing out of the cage. As soon as he had, he knelt up.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, John had collapsed in his chair. "Ozzy, go and get John and me a cup of tea. Then kneel in the centre of the room."

"Yes, Master," the Irishman replied. He was glad of any excuse to move about, even if it was only for a few brief minutes.

He wanted to ask how the case was but he daren't. He knew that some days his master appreciated the conversation, today wasn't one of those days. As he brought the tea through, he knew exactly what his master appreciated: John.

The doctor had Sherlock in his lap and was kissing him.

Ozzy set the two mugs of tea near them on the coffee table, then went and knelt in the centre of the room.

Sherlock and John proceeded to ignore the kneeling man, both appreciating each other's company.

Ozzy didn't want that kind of romantic attention from his master, but he desperately wanted some kind of attention. He knew better than to seek it out, however.

Sherlock came up for air, grinning at the doctor. "I promised you that Ozzy wouldn't sleep in our room tonight. Does that mean I'll get my reward for not insulting Lestrade this evening?"

John smirked. "Maybe."

"Dog!" Sherlock barked suddenly, climbing off John's lap.

"Master?" Ozzy whispered.

"Make yourself useful. Go change the sheets on our bed and make our bedroom presentable. I want it to be nice for John."

Ozzy flinched. "Yes, Master." He scrambled out of the room as quick as he could.

During that brief time, John had taken out their stack of menus and was looking through them. "If you want your prize, you have to eat first." He shoved them into Sherlock's hands. "Pick something."

Sherlock didn't even look at them just tapped one aimlessly.

"You don't like curry," John pointed out. "So stop being a prat and pick one properly."

The detective grinned and pulled out the one for Angelo's. He was feeling quite romantic and wanted to make a special night of it.

"What you going to do with him?" John jerked his head towards the bedroom.

"He can have those disgusting bran flakes for dinner than go back in the cage. He can stew until morning."

A few minutes later, Ozzy emerged from their bedroom, carrying their old sheets which he promptly put in the laundry. "Anything else, Master?" he asked, hoping to be of use.

"Fix yourself some cereal. When you've eaten, set the table for two. With candles, mind," the detective instructed. "Then lock yourself in your cage."

With those words, Ozzy realised he would be left with the anticipation for the rest of the evening and probably the whole night. "Yes, master," he whispered.

He ate the hated bran flakes glumly, then cleaned up after himself. Even though his own prospects for the night were dim, he set the table carefully and selected two unburnt candles to place on the table. He wanted his Master's evening to be perfect if it could be.

When Sherlock glanced through to the kitchen and saw the table he wondered why the former consulting criminal had laid it out so perfectly. Was it because he was a slave? Or was it simply because he thought he would get something out of it.

John rolled his eyes. "It's no great mystery, Sherlock. Ozzy worships you, like I said. He wants you to be happy."

"No, he doesn't. He doesn't want to be punished anymore than he thinks he is going to be."

"If you believed that he would be in C right now."

Sherlock laughed and hugged the doctor.

It was only a few minutes later that the food John had ordered arrived. The detective dashed down the stairs to get it and returned with several bags of food, much more than John had ordered.

"Anthea just loves you," John said with a snort. He glanced over his shoulder, "Ozzy, get in your cage right now!"

"Yes, sir," he whimpered.

The doctor waited until Ozzy was safely locked away, then he took Sherlock's hand and guided him to the kitchen table. He pulled out the chair for him and waited for him to sit, then he fetched a lighter and lit the candles.

"What's my reward?" Sherlock asked yet again.

"I don't know. What do you think it is?"

The detective licked his lips. "I have very particular expectations, John. Very particular and high expectations."

"I know you do. I said it earlier, you're a brat," as the blond spoke he glanced over at the cage where Ozzy was knelt for no reason.

He gestured towards the cage and Sherlock looked over. "You can lay down, dog."

"Yes, Master," he whispered, curling up in a ball on the dog bed.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand. "Come on."

They disappeared together into their room, leaving Ozzy alone. He felt abandoned and wanted to cry.


	23. Acquisition

John and Sherlock didn't reappear until the following morning. Sherlock went straight into the front room and John headed to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Ozzy!" Sherlock called out brightly. He looked out the window. "It's a beautiful day." He felt wonderful. The night before had been brilliant.

"Morning, Master," Ozzy whimpered. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink and felt even worse.

"Don't look so glum." Sherlock opened the cage. "Get out of there. John, let the dog have eggs for breakfast. He looks horrible."

John appeared with two coffees. "If he's having eggs I'm not cooking. He can do it."

Sherlock shrugged, he didn't really care who cooked it. "You heard him, doggy."

Ozzy nodded. "Yes, Master." He crawled into the kitchen and sat back on his heels thinking. "Master, what else should I cook for the both of you?"

Sherlock glared at him for a moment. "I want bacon."

"He's having bacon," John said straight after. "The day he picks food is the day he gets whatever he wants."

Ozzy nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Yes, Master." He noted that John was grinning from ear to ear and his master was actually smiling as well. He really didn't understand either of them.

The detective couldn't keep still. He'd had two brilliant cases right in a row and then the perfect night with John. He knew he should have collapsed, but he felt too wonderful.

"Sherlock, babe. Work on some cold cases. Something," John told him with a fond yet exasperated look.

"No!" He began skipping around the room, up and over the coffee table.

"Lock!"

"John!"

The doctor picked up Sherlock's mug. "No coffee for you. You're absolutely manic."

"No! I want coffee."

"No you don't. Sit down, and shut up." John pushed the detective down onto the sofa, then he sat on him to keep him there.

"Let me up!" the detective complained.

"Nope."

Sherlock began to struggle, managing only to get himself pinned more forcefully.

Ozzy looked on from the kitchen as he cooked.

"Turn around," the doctor ordered.

With a grunt Sherlock stopped fighting and glanced at his dog.

Ozzy quickly averted his gaze and turned back to his cooking.

The two men were at an impasse when there was a knock at the door. John called for whoever it was to enter without getting off the detective.

Mycroft entered, his eyebrow trying to disappear into his receding hairline.

"You don't get an opinion, Mycroft,” Sherlock declared.

The government official just shrugged, "Put him down, little brother."

"I'd gladly put him down if I could. He won't get off."

John blushed and climbed off of Sherlock. "He was a bit stir crazy, Mycroft. You know how he gets."

"I don't blame you, John. Sherlock, how's your dog?"

"Fine. Ozzy, my brother's here."

The former consulting criminal froze where he was for a moment. He hadn't expected to see Mycroft. His voice wavering, he asked, "Shall I cook enough for him too, Master?"

Sherlock smirked, he had hoped the boy would ask that. "Yes, dog. My brother loves bacon."

Mycroft sat in Sherlock's chair. "Doesn't Mrs. Hudson miss cooking for you?"

"She still bakes for us. The dog is useless when it comes to that."

Ozzy felt hurt. He hadn't been given a chance to bake for his master. Even so, he went back into the kitchen and got on with breakfast.

Sherlock watched him go, then made a point of crossing the room and dropping on John's lap.

John gave Mycroft a 'what can I do' look.

The government official shrugged in acknowledgement. "You're in quite the mood, baby brother. I suppose this means you don't want to discuss what brought me here."

Sherlock huffed. "Whether I want to or not, you are going to bore me."

"Mm. Yes. It's one of my little joys in life." Mycroft tapped the floor with his umbrella. "Your problem is you're bored. You've successfully broken the dog in the kitchen, now you find yourself at loose ends."

"Are you kidding?" John snorted from below his boyfriend. "He was like this long before the dog came along."

"I am aware," the government official said with a thin smile. "I should have added 'once again'."

"You're giving me a new dog to play with?"

Mycroft snorted. "I would give you Sebastian Moran if I could."

Sherlock jumped up off John's lap. "I want him. Get him for him, Mycie. Please!"

"Sherlock, think about this," the doctor reached up and took Sherlock's hand.

"Why?"

"What if Ozzy reverts?"

It was Mycroft who replied. "John, I highly doubt that will happen. He loves Sherlock too much."

The doctor stalked over to the kitchen. "Ozzy, that man we encountered, Sebastian Moran. Do you remember him from before that?"

Ozzy frowned. The answer had been no the last time he'd been asked. "No, sir," Ozzy whispered in John's direction.

"Are you sure?" the doctor asked, taking a menacing step closer.

"Yes, sir, I swear." Ozzy cringed back and looked down at the floor.

"John, you do realise we've been through all this before?" Mycroft was watching him with a slight frown.

"Yes. I know. I'm just being thorough."

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, expecting him to look annoyed by the doctor's actions, but he didn't. Instead, the detective looked pleased. He seemed to like John's protective streak.

"Can I really have him?" Sherlock turned to his brother.

"I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock grinned.

"Why do you want him, Sherlock?" The doctor asked. "He is nowhere near as clever as Ozzy."

"He'll be a challenge," the detective said with a shrug. "And Ozzy won't have to be alone all the time. He'll have company."

"Do you really care?" John asked.

"The longer I can leave him alone for, the more time I get to spend with you."

"Can't argue with that."

"Would you be willing to babysit two if I had to... go away?" Sherlock asked his brother.

"If by babysit, you mean lock them in a cage, then yes," Mycroft said, watching Ozzy finish cooking.

John chuckled. "The two of you are forgetting something. You need to ask Greg that question."

"Greg will be fine. He's out of town for a few days."

John glanced at Sherlock. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Well... Mycroft's here without him." Sherlock got a look that was somewhere between annoyed and wistful.

"Be nice to your brother, then, babe,” John said. “You get just as miserable when I go out of town."

"I didn't mean anything by it. I was merely pointing out that Greg wasn't around to be bothered."

John clipped him on the back of the head.

The three of them only stopped staring at each other when Ozzy appeared.

"Master, breakfast is ready." Ozzy fell to his knees and placed his hands behind his head.

The other men moved their conversation to the kitchen where they sat and started eating.

Ozzy stayed where he'd fallen to his knees, anticipation crawling through him. Sherlock hadn't told him what his punishment for yesterday was going to be yet, afact that would have made the detective laugh. He had already filed the incident away in his Mind Palace as closed.

Seeing as the food he wanted was in front of him, Sherlock ate it all.

Mycroft leant back. "I have to admit it, baby brother, your pet can cook."

The detective grinned. "Yup. Who would have expected it?" He looked at his brother seriously. "So, can I have him?"

Mycroft shook his head slowly. "I will see what I can do."

Sherlock grinned broadly. "Yay, John! New toy!"

"You indulge him too much, Mycroft."

"That's rather ironic coming from you, John."

The doctor actually poked his tongue out before chewing on a bit of bacon.

When the detective was done, John inclined his head towards the door. "Hadn't you better go and put your current pet out of his misery?"

"Hm? Oh!" Sherlock leapt to his feet and crossed to Ozzy. "Your punishment is over doggie."

Ozzy blinked up at him in disbelief. "Master?"

"Don't be dumb, dog." Sherlock dragged Ozzy into the kitchen and grabbed a bit of bacon off of John's plate. Then he pushed it into his kneeling slave's mouth.

The Irishman ate it, completely stunned. He had been dreading his punishment for almost a day. It took him a moment, but he soon realised exactly what his punishment had been and how successful it was. The moment he did, he blushed, feeling like an idiot. What made it worse was the way his master was looking at him so knowingly.

"Something to say, boy?"

"No, Master," Ozzy muttered.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Master," Ozzy nodded.

Mycroft pushed himself back from the table. "I really must be going." He actually sounded regretful.

"Why?"

"I have a job, little brother, but thanks for the concern."

Sherlock snorted. "Don't lie, you're going to see if you can get Moran out of his little hiding place."

"I plan on doing both, actually." Mycroft straightened his tie, then went to fetch his umbrella.

Sherlock looked ecstatic. John looked resigned. Ozzy looked worried. He didn't want to share his Master with yet another person.

When Mycroft had disappeared, Sherlock turned on Ozzy. "Do you think your opinion matters?"

"No, Master," he whispered.

"Good. Because it doesn't. But don't forget, he will take a long time to break, just like you." He bopped Ozzy on the nose with his finger. "So until that happens... until he breaks, he will be locked downstairs in C alone."

Ozzy nodded. "Yes, Master."

"And you remember how much fun that is, don't you?"

The former consulting criminal shivered at the point. "Yes, Master."

"You'll be responsible for the upkeep of this flat and all meals. We won't have time to see to it."

Ozzy didn't bother pointing out it's what he did anyway, he just nodded again. "Yes, Master."

"Good." The detective clapped his hands. "We need to go prepare C for its new occupant." He glanced over at John and the doctor smirked.

"Is that a 'please come and help me John'?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe."

"Fine," John huffed. "Ozzy, get in your cage."

"Actually, he can be of some use to us downstairs."

The Irishman gave a shudder at going back down there for any reason, but he didn't voice an objection.

Sherlock snapped his leash on and tugged him towards the stairs. "When we get down there, you'll scrub the bathroom. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master.” The thought of that room made him feel ill. Mycroft had given him the enema from hell the last time he'd been in it.

Once in the basement flat, it became clear how much work was in front of them, or rather, Ozzy. They had left it in quite the mess.

Sherlock took Ozzy straight to the bathroom and tied his leash to one of the pipes. "Get on with it, boy."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock returned to the main room and John who was picking up toys that had been dropped.

"All of these will need cleaned," he told the detective. "And we need to make sure there's nothing here he could use as a weapon if he gets loose."

"1) he won't get free. 2) there's no weapons in here. And 3) why clean them?"

"Because I don't want him getting ill through carelessness." John started piling the toys up in the sink. "Ozzy can take care of these when he gets done in the bathroom."

"We could just leave him down here," Sherlock offered. "Knowing my brother, he will have Sebby here in a few hours, we should go upstairs and have some fun."

"As tempting as that is, I would feel better supervising," John said as he untangled some chains.

Sherlock snorted. "Fair enough." He paced around the cross that was in the centre of the room. "Well this is my favourite toy."

"It was certainly effective with Ozzy." John paused what he was doing. "Seriously, though. You're doing this so Ozzy has company? There has to be another reason."

Sherlock shrugged. "Ozzy found him useful and not just as muscle. Maybe we can find a use for him."

"But it wasn't Ozzy that found a use for him. It was Moriarty. And I'm 99% sure the reason he found said use was because they were screwing each other."

Sherlock let his eyebrow raise. "I 'screw' you, doesn't mean you're not useful in other ways."

"Ha! You admit I'm useful. It's about time." John tossed a dildo at Sherlock. "Put that with the rest in the sink."

Sherlock had frozen.

"What?" John asked.

Now the detective stared at him. "You always zig when I think you're about to zag. I love it about you."

The doctor sketched a bow, smiling when he met Sherlock's eyes once again. "I do try to be entertaining."

"I still love you, you're doing something right."

John hit the detective on the back of the head with another dildo. "Deal with them."

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head. "Ow!" His bottom lip had popped out.

"Stop complaining. That didn't hurt."

Sherlock snatched it from the doctor and took it through to the bathroom, dropping it in the sink. "You can clean these when you're done, doggy."

"Yes, Master," Ozzy agreed readily enough. He had never wanted to see those things again and wanted to avoid having them used on him.

"You remember what I do with them then?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, Master," Ozzy repeated.

"Good. Be a good dog and they'll stay in the cupboard."

"Yes, Master," Ozzy agreed, nodding furiously. He started scrubbing the floor harder to show his eagerness to please.

Sherlock was so focused on his boyfriend, he jerked in surprise when the door to C opened.

"You better be decent, baby brother."

The detective rolled his eyes. "This is not my bedroom!"

Mycroft came down the stairs, dragging a bound and gagged sniper behind him.

John fell into a military posture as he peered at Moran. He could see trouble brewing in the other man's eyes. Well, John would make sure that trouble never happened.

Mycroft threw the other man to the floor at Sherlock's feet.

"No one will miss him. Where's the other one?"

"Dog!" Sherlock shouted. "Get in here and meet our guest."

Ozzy crawled into the main room and knelt up next to his master. He didn't even think twice of being naked in front of anyone.

Moran however, thrashed and yelled.

John crossed to him in three paces and backhanded him. "That's enough of that." When that didn't work, he grabbed him by the wrist and soon had Moran's arm twisted up his back.

Moran whimpered and stilled.

Beside the detective, Ozzy cowered into his master's legs, but he didn't know what from.

Sherlock dropped his hand into Ozzy's hair. "Welcome, dog two. Get his clothes off of him, John."

Moran thrashed as John stepped near. Mycroft leant over and held Moran by his hair, pinning him still.

It didn't take long to remove Moran's shirt and vest, but when the doctor reached for his belt, he renewed his struggles.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, stepped forward and threw his fist. Moran jerked sideways and fell temporarily limp in Mycroft's arms. After that, John stripped Moran quickly.

"Shall we put him on the cross before he wakes fully?" the doctor asked as the man began to rouse.

Mycroft merely grunted and dropped him at John's feet.

"Ozzy, go to the corner. Position 1."

The Irishman crawled to the corner and knelt there immediately with his hands in place. He was well out of the way as John and Sherlock lifted Moran onto the cross.

"I never said you had to face the corner, doggy," Sherlock called out. "I would quite like you watching this, in fact."

Ozzy turned around and faced the centre of the room, though he didn't know why it was important he do so.

Mycroft glanced between his brother and the dog in the corner as he and John began buckling Moran to the cross.

Moran opened his eyes as Sherlock buckled his ankle in place. He immediately started struggling, but he couldn't move from where he was bound.

"Shall we take his gag out?" John asked.

Sherlock made a point to think about it as he paced around the trussed up man. "No."

Moran turned his head to look at Ozzy. When he saw him knelt in the corner, he growled fiercely. He didn't know if it was the kneeling, the posture, the fact he was doing it willingly or the fact he didn't seem to care that affected him the most.

"Take it easy," the detective said, standing close by Moran. "I don't want you upsetting my doggie."

Moran's eyes flashed with hatred.

“You can look at me all you like, dog 2. It won't make a difference to the outcome of this.”

Sherlock picked up a riding crop and tossed it to John. "We may as well get down to business." Then he picked up a flogger. "You staying Mycroft?"

"You don't need me anymore brother-mine. You're fine."

"Stay."

Mycroft hesitated, then he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. "Since you insist, I suppose I shall have to stay."

Sherlock grinned, then used the end of the flogger he held to prod at Moran's pathetically limp cock.

The man tried to kick out at Sherlock to no avail. In response, the detective struck him with the flogger across his thigh.

Moran ground his teeth against the gag in frustration and Sherlock snorted. "That won't achieve anything. Mycroft, aren't you going to get your own toy?"

"I have no desire for a 'toy'. What would I do with one?" He walked over to the table of toys and looked at each item, considering which one his brother might find most useful.

Sherlock struck their guest several times, then stepped back to see the results of his work.

Moran simply glared at him, his gaze cold.

The detective turned half his focus on Ozzy, the slave wasn't reacting at all. Good. His attention was brought back to Moran when John's pace with the crop sped up.

The sniper glared at John, barely flinching at each strike. Sherlock didn't like it at all, so he went to the table and picked up a hood. With firm tugs he yanked the hood Moran's head and pulled the strings together at the back. "Doggy being a bad boy."

Mycroft adjusted the temperature in the flat so that soon the temperature started falling. It had been a winning strategy with Moriarty.

Sherlock wanted Ozzy to watch, but he didn't want him to think he was being punished. They'd developed a routine and strategy with their first pet, he didn't want to break it for the second.

He crossed over to Ozzy and ran a hand through his hair. He still didn't seem overly distressed. From what Sherlock could discern, the Irishman's discomfort extended from the activities being witnessed, not from the fact they were happening to Sebastian Moran. He crouched down in front of him. "You ok doggie?"

"Yes, Master. May I ask a question please, Master?"

Mycroft looked over with interest.

"Go ahead," Sherlock said.

"Who is that?"

"Mm. Interesting question," Sherlock said, petting Ozzy's hair. "He's done bad things. He doesn't have a name anymore."

Ozzy frowned. "Oh."

At that response, Sherlock snorted. "Yeah, boy, that pretty much covers it. He'll be staying a while."

"What should I do, Master?" He felt internally off balance, though he didn't know why.

"Nothing. Stay there." Sherlock turned on his heal and headed back to the others.

Moran was still thrashing on the cross.

Stepping back, John lowered the crop and gave his arm a few minutes to rest. Mycroft took his place with a crop of his own and began striking Moran.

After several more minutes, Moran fell limp, when that happened Mycroft stepped back. "Took him long enough to stop struggling."

Ozzy, watching from his corner, didn't understand why the strange man on the cross had fought so long. The man should cooperate with their master. It would be easier on him if he did.

It was Mycroft who spoke up. "Let's leave him to stew for a bit." He tossed the crop aside. "I find tea is in order."

John looked at him, then laughed. "Join us upstairs and I'll put the kettle on."

"No." Sherlock stepped forward and pulled Ozzy up. "My good dog will deal with tea. C'mon boy."

They made their way upstairs, John locking the door to 221C behind them.

"Go ahead, Ozzy," Sherlock shoved his pet into the kitchen.

"Tea for everyone, Master?"

"I'll have coffee," John said, falling back into his chair.

Sherlock gravitated to one of the living room windows and looked out. He smiled to himself, then whirled around. "How long do we leave him?"

Mycroft pulled his laptop from his bag and began tapping away at it. "There's no textbook for this, little brother. I thought you learnt that with the other one."

The detective started pacing, full of nervous energy. Rather than being calmed by their new project, he felt more restless than ever. He wanted to be doing something.

"Ozzy!" John called.

Ozzy appeared at the kitchen door. "Yes, sir?"

"To confirm, you're making Sherlock tea not coffee?"

"Yes, sir," he repeated.

John held out a hand from where he was sitting. "Come here, babe."

The detective went directly to him, taking his hand, and finding himself pulled into John's lap.

"You need to calm down,” John said, concerned.

"No!"

"Sherlock, you're an adult, not a child, so quit acting like one."

Sherlock started to squirm away, but the doctor held him tightly.

"Nope. You're going to sit here with me and calm down."

Sherlock's bottom lip popped out. It stayed out until the former consulting criminal appeared with a tray of mugs. He took a mug of tea and took a huge gulp, burning his tongue. "Ow!" He stuck his tongue out and fanned it with his free hand.

John snatched the mug off him and slammed it onto the table.

Ozzy looked panicked.

"It's fine Ozzy," John reassured him. "Not your fault he is an impatient prat.”

The Irishman nodded nervously and set John's coffee on the table beside him, then he carried the remaining mug of tea to Mycroft.

Mycroft actually smiled when he took the mug from Ozzy. It made the younger man even more nervous, Mycroft never smiled.

After Ozzy returned the tray to the kitchen, he crawled back into the living room and knelt up.

John glanced at him, but his attention was on the detective. "You've got something up your arse Sherlock, quit fidgeting!"

"I do not! If I did you would certainly be the first one to know it."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Please, little brother, must you be so juvenile?"

"Why? Interrupting your precious working schedule?"

"If you want details, I can explain how I'm emailing Gregory right now and that-"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

The government official gave a smug smile that made John laugh.

With a few keystrokes, Mycroft connected to the basement flat's cameras. He frowned at how calm Moran appeared to be.

"Greg send you nudes?"

Sherlock's sentence had been so abrupt that John burst out laughing, pushing his boyfriend to the floor in the process.

"Do I look like- Really, baby brother." Mycroft turned his laptop around so they could see Moran. "He's far too calm for my liking."

Sherlock stopped his condescending look at once and climbed off the sofa to snatch the laptop from his brother. "Weird."

John shifted his gaze from the laptop screen to Mycroft. "What haven't you told us about Moran? Did he train for high risk covert missions when he was in the army? That would explain the way he's reacting."

Mycroft frowned. "Yes."

"John..."

"It's fine, Sherlock. Not bad memories or anything, it's just my thinking face." He smiled.

The detective nodded. He had to trust John to know his own triggers and limits. If he said it was fine, then it was.


	24. Bound

Making a snap decision, Sherlock turned and headed down to the basement flat. "Come along, John. We need to push him harder."

John scowled at him, "Ozzy, go and stop him. Drag him back here."

"But, sir-"

"Now!" John barked.

In seconds, Ozzy had crossed the room, grabbed Sherlock's sleeve and dragged him, unprotesting, back to the sofa.

"Now drink your damn tea," John ordered.

"But, John-"

"Now."

Sherlock pouted, but he picked up his tea and drank it, this time without gulping it down. Beside him, Ozzy knelt again.

"Surprised he did as I said," John pointed out with a smirk.

"Not really," Mycroft was watching the three of them. "None of Sherlock's orders counteracted yours."

The detective made an indelicate sound and crossed his arms in a petulant huff. "I don't see why we can't go back down and play."

"We can. When you've drank your tea. All of it, Sherlock," John said when the detective went to argue with him.

"You're no fair."

"Nope," John said, then he lifted his mug and swallowed down the last of his coffee. "But you love me anyway."

"Come on then,” Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft shook his head. "I'll wait up here with dog 1."

"You're sure, Mycroft? We could use your no nonsense act."

Mycroft snorted. "You're a brat. How are we related?"

"What would Mummy say to that, big brother?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "John, do something with him. Take him downstairs to play."

John laughed and shoved his boyfriend towards the door. "You love winding up your brother."

"You wind up your sister all the time!"

"Yeah, I do," the doctor admitted without the slightest bit of remorse.

"That makes you a hypocrite, John."

"I don't care." He pushed Sherlock up against the wall on the way to C and pressed his lips to his.

"Coowee," Mrs. Hudson interrupted moments later.

John stepped back from Sherlock and smiled at their landlady. "Hello Mrs. Hudson."

"No need to stop on my account, boys. You two just carry on." She bustled past them towards the stairs. "Did I hear you down here earlier?"

Sherlock smirked. "Maybe."

"It's that James, isn't it? He's done something. I don't trust him, even now. He-"

"Mrs. Hudson, it's not Ozzy. It's someone else," John said, interrupting her.

"Someone else?" She frowned. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," John replied with a small smile.

Mrs. Hudson tutted. "I'll just keep my skillet handy in case I need to hit him over the head, then."

The detective gave her a hug. "Mrs. Hudson, you are a treasure."

She stared at him and smirked. "I know, dear," she headed off upstairs and disappeared.

John barked a laugh. "I can see why you get on."

Sherlock's grin spread from ear to ear as he jogged down the few steps to the basement level. He stopped outside C and listened, but there was no sound from inside. Holding his finger to his lips, Sherlock crept in, John close behind.

Despite their stealthy entrance, Moran turned his hooded face towards them. The action made Sherlock scowl. He had wanted to catch him unaware.

"It won't happen, Lock," John pointed out.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

The detective let out a huff. "It was worth a try," he complained.

John didn't dignify that with an answer. "You look cold," he said, raising his voice and speaking in clipped tones. "I imagine you'd like to change that."

Moran didn't move in any way that could resemble a response. If they were trying to break him, it would take a lot more. He'd been in solitary confinement for weeks.

Sherlock crossed over to Moran and studied him for a bit. "John, he doesn't seem ready to let me help him. I'm afraid we're going to have to make him even more uncomfortable."

"You're afraid?" The doctor turned towards Sherlock with one eyebrow raised.

"Well I'm not... figure of speech. We can do whatever we want."

John gave him a half grin. "Yeah, we can." He decided to start with the basics and go from there. The first thing he chose from the table was a pair of nipple clamps. "Grab some headphones," John suggested.

Sherlock came back a few seconds later with the same headphones they'd used on Moriarty.

The moment they went on Moran and the noise was turned on, he tensed visibly, but only for a moment before he visibly forced himself to relax.

The detective growled, then turned the sound up until their subject showed visible signs of distress.

Sherlock merely smirked at him, all the while John paced around the cross, tapping the wood with the crop.

John stepped forward and placed the nipple clamps on Moran, then gave them an experimental tug. He was pleased when the man hissed in a breath.

"That's been his only reaction so far," Sherlock muttered, somehow managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Even though Sherlock managed it, John knew exactly what he was thinking. The doctor tugged on the chain, keeping it taut. "Would you fetch a weight, Sherlock?"

The detective nodded once, the one he chose was rather heavy. He took it back and clipped it on the chain that hung from the nipple clamps. Then he let the chain go.

Moran fell forward as much as the cuffs on the cross would let him, but then he recovered himself and straightened up.

"No wonder Moriarty found him useful," Sherlock mused. "He would have been very difficult to distract from his assignments by discomfort."

"Hmm…" John pondered, staring at him for a moment.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." John shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What next?"

The detective poked and prodded at Moran, pinching him from time to time. "It may have been a mistake to hood him. We should let him really see his former boss' place in the world, not just the brief look he got earlier."

"Go and get him then."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as the doctor began unthreading the hood.

"Surprised you agreed to that," Sherlock headed out the door. Rather than climbing the stairs to B, he stood at the bottom and yelled, "Dog!"

Almost immediately, Ozzy could be heard scampering down the stairs. He fell at the detective's feet, kneeling. "Yes, Master?"

Before Sherlock got the chance to respond, Mycroft appeared at the top. "What on earth… little brother, what are you up to?"

"The subject is responding minimally to physical stimuli. I thought the sight of Ozzy might produce more of a reaction."

"So… scientific." Mycroft skipped down the stairs, "Well I would like to see this."

Sherlock shrugged and latched a leash onto Ozzy's collar. He led the Irishman into the room and right up to Moran. "Kneel, Ozzy. Position 1."

At the detective's nod, John removed the headphones, then the hood so Moran could see Ozzy knelt before him.

Ozzy's hands had gone straight behind his head as he knelt up straight. The leash that Sherlock held wasn't pulled tight it was just there, rather comforting.

Moran's reaction was instantaneous. He fought to get free of his bonds, growling the entire time. They let him struggle for several moments, then Sherlock slapped him. When that didn't get his attention, he pulled Ozzy close, using the leash and ran his hand through his hair. Moran snarled and thrashed, trying to pull free.

Sherlock glared at him. "You aren't getting out of there, boy, so you can keep trying and wear yourself out or you can obey us - obey me."

All the tied up sniper did was roll his eyes.

"Dog, go fetch my brother some tea. Sherlock draped the leash over Ozzy's shoulders.

The Irishman crawled to the kitchen, Moran's eyes following him as long as they could.

Sherlock did nothing else, just waited for Ozzy to reappear and focused his attentions on Moran.

When the former consulting criminal bowed his head to Mycroft and offered him the tea, Moran thrashed again.

"You may curl up at my brother's feet," the government official directed Ozzy. "And kiss them whilst you're down there."

Ozzy nodded once. "Yes, sir."

Ozzy made a point to be even more perfect as he kissed his Master's feet. Then he quite literally curled up on the floor.

Moran went mad again, pulling against his restraints and growling. Sherlock slapped him again, then John moved in with the riding crop.

Ozzy stayed where he had been ordered. He knew it had nothing to do with Sherlock. This was to do with the man tied to the cross.

When Moran bore several more red stripes, the doctor handed the crop to Ozzy. "Put that away, dog."

The Irishman crawled over to the table and set the crop on top of it, then crawled back to his master's feet.

Sherlock reached up and removed the gag that sat in Moran's mouth, spreading his jaw wide.

The sniper didn't even try and work his jaw just spat hatred at the detective. "You piece of-"

John cut him off with a slap.

Ozzy didn't like what the man had been about to say. He was glad the doctor had slapped him. As far as the Irishman was concerned, the man on the cross deserved much worse.

Sherlock noticed the look on his dog's face. "Go on Ozzy. Tell our guest what you are thinking right now. Don't hold back."

The Irishman knelt up, making himself as tall as he could. "You shouldn't say bad things to Master. If you do, you should be punished. You should be punished anyway for doing bad things. I'd do it myself, if Master would let me. He shouldn't have to touch you." With each word he spoke, Ozzy had got redder in the face from anger.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise as he glanced towards his brother. "Mycroft?"

The government official nodded once and Sherlock lowered his hand to Ozzy's hair. "Good, boy. Thank you," he offered in praise.

Moran's eyes had gone wide in shock. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to Sherlock, looking at him with pure venom.

Sherlock only laughed, it had kind of been the response he had been expecting. "John, would you take Ozzy back upstairs and fix him a treat. I think he deserves ice cream for his loyal statement." He returned his attention to Moran once John and Ozzy had left. "I'm tempted to leave you on the cross, but I'm going to be nice. You can spend time like my dog used to, collared and leashed there in the corner, but don’t think of sleeping.”

Together, the Holmes brothers fitted a collar to Sebastian and attached a leash to it. Mycroft hefted a cane as a precaution, then they let him off the cross.

Moran tried to break free, but Mycroft struck him across the back as Sherlock kneed him hard in the crotch. The sniper went down hard, his legs unsteady from his time on the cross. They dragged him to the corner and attached the leash to the wall, not leaving much give in the chain. He would barely have enough to allow him to lay down.

As the brothers left the room, Sherlock called out, "Enjoy your night," then closed the door behind them.

* * *

The sniper jerked awake to ice cold water.

"Who gave you permission to sleep?" Mycroft hissed. "I know for a fact it wasn't Sherlock."

Seb flinched back, away from the government official, his collar catching against the leash chaining him to the wall. He reached up, grasping the collar and jerking at it. "Get this thing off me!"

Mycroft raised a single eyebrow. "What on earth makes you think I would do that? You had best get used to wearing it. It won't be coming off." Mycroft folded his arms. "Your attitude has declined overnight, boy, I wonder why?"

Once again, Moran flinched. "I'm sorry. Sir," he added in a whisper.

"I believe the clichéd reply would be 'not sorry enough', but it does fit the situation." Mycroft tossed his bucket aside and stepped closer to Seb. "I intend to remedy the situation."

Moran tugged at the leash, trying to work out if it would actually help or just anger Mycroft further.

The government official merely laughed. "You used to be nothing but a pain in my arse, now look at you."

"You can't keep me here," Sebastian declared, though he dreaded Mycroft's reply.

"I don't even have to tell you how wrong you are, do I?" Mycroft smirked at the man on the floor. He looked at his watch with exaggerated motions. "My brother and John should be here shortly. I do hope you've planned your apologies to them."

"Apologies for what? I've done nothing wrong!"

"Hmm…" Mycroft pondered a suitable response.

Seb ground his teeth. "You're wrong!"

Mycroft laughed again at the sound of the front door opening.

John preceded Sherlock into the room where the sniper was being kept. The doctor stopped just out of Seb's reach, crossing his arms across his chest. "How's its attitude this morning?"

Mycroft straightened up and laughed even more. It wasn't something John was used to hearing but it seemed to worry their prisoner more.

"His attitude is nothing to be proud of, little brother. He was asleep when I came in."

Sherlock stood on Mycroft's other side. His brother's statement bringing a glare to his face. Seb physically shrank back from it.

"That is... unfortunate." Sherlock shrugged off his Belstaff and draped it over the back of a chair across the room.

Seb watched on, worried when Sherlock turned on his heel and left the room.

"You can bring the doggy if you like John," he called back into the other room.

John shook his head and filled his voice with mock sympathy. "I dread to see what he has in store for you. You should have stayed awake." He removed the leash from where it was secured and gave it a tug. "Don't forget your manners, crawl."

Moran clearly considered it for a moment, but ended up deciding to crawl after the doctor.

Mycroft couldn't resist kicking his arse as he went by.

Seb fell forward on his face and growled at the man. That made John tug hard on the leash, forcing the sniper to right himself, but he couldn't keep in his smirk.

By that point they were in view of Sherlock and he laughed from where he was reclined on the sofa.

"Amusing you, am I?" Moran hissed.

"You have no idea. Nothing amuses me more than seeing someone who was a threat to the people I love get the payment due him." Sherlock sat up and leant forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded beneath his chin. "I didn't give you permission to sleep."

Seb glared. "Do I look like I care about 'permission'?"

Mycroft kicked him up the arse again and he fell forward.

"We need some rules, doggy,” Sherlock told their ‘guest'.

"Keep it down here for the time being, little brother. Don't let it leave C. Same as last time. Where's Ozzy?"

"Asleep."

Mycroft struggled not to make a face, it wouldn't do to undermine Sherlock in front of Moran, even as he hissed and snarled like a wounded animal.

"Back to the point, that thing," John pointed at Seb, "disobeyed a direct order and he hasn't offered an apology. It seems to me that punishment is in order."

The kneeling man glanced pointedly at Mycroft.

"I did apologise!" He snapped.

Mycroft shrugged, "I don't recall that," he turned on his heel and whacked Seb's arse with his umbrella.

"Ow!" He seemed to forget himself and lunged for the older Holmes. John brought him up short with the leash.

"I've had enough of this." Sherlock got up and, stepping up onto, then down off of the coffee table, went and fetched the rope they had bought just for this purpose. "John, have you had enough practice on Ozzy?"

The doctor chuckled. "Nothing beats a live lab rat. And YouTube videos."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and chucked the rope to him. "You weren't on YouTube you were watching porn."

"A bit of both, actually," the doctor said without the slightest bit of shame. He passed Seb's leash to Sherlock, then started unwinding the rope, getting it ready.

The sniper clearly didn't want to participate because he immediately began shuffling backwards. Mycroft whacked his arse yet again. "Keep still, boy!" He barked.

At the same time, Sherlock had tugged on the leash. "Don't make this harder on yourself than you need to. Of course, if you do, I'll enjoy thrashing you."

Moran fell still but only through self preservation.

John quickly set about tying his wrists behind his back and wrapping the rope up and down his arms.

As the doctor worked and Sebastian became more restrained, the sniper panicked. He tried to break free, but couldn't move very far because of the rope and the leash.

Casually, Sherlock pressed his foot against Seb's cock. "By all means, continue."

Seb's breath suddenly came in gasps but that didn't stop the doctor from twiddling the rope around. Eventually he got to the sniper's cock and began restraining it with his rope.

Mycroft twirled his umbrella. "That's quite the expert job, John, regardless of where you obtained your techniques. I shan't enquire too closely."

The doctor laughed as he tied off the rope. "Like I said, I looked on the internet... and practiced on a dummy."

He held his hand out for the rope that was attached to Sebastian's cock, he pulled it back between his legs giving it a sharp tug.

Mycroft still didn't comment, just began to play with the rope, revelling in the noises Seb let escape him.

It didn't sound like the sniper was having very much fun.

"Now, you may ask for permission to apologise to Sherlock and John for falling asleep last night." Mycroft gave the rope a tug to emphasise his words.

"No!"

Mycroft yanked the rope even harder and Seb whimpered.

"Sherlock-"

"Sir!" John snapped.

Sebastian shot the doctor and evil look, one full of hatred. "Sir," he sneered.

Before he could go on, Mycroft tugged on the rope again. "Keep it civil."

"Sir, may I have permission to apologise?" After he had spoken, Seb turned his gaze to the floor lest he be tempted to glare at one of the other men, it wouldn't help his situation.

Sherlock stared at the back of his head for a moment. "No."

That made his head snap upwards again. "What do you mean no?!"

"You have to earn the privilege of apologising, and trust me when I say you want to."

Seb barked a laugh. "You're as insane as Jim is."

"There are those who would agree."

"Then there's me who wouldn't," John growled grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back, leaving his throat exposed, "and its Ozzy now." The doctor looked down into the sniper's eyes. "Don't ever say such a thing about Sherlock again. If you do, you'll be dealing completely with the soldier." Up until now, the doctor has tempered his presence, but that could change.

Sebastian laughed. "You're no soldier, not like me." That made John smirk evilly, he let go of the sniper long enough to pull back his fist and swing a punch into the side of Seb's head.

Falling over helplessly, Seb fell to the floor. He felt dizzy and saw stars, in addition he had bitten his lip upon impact.

John grasped him by the hair and pulled him back to his knees. "Again, don't insult Sherlock."

John saw the sniper grit his teeth to prevent himself from laughing again. He obviously realised it wouldn't be in his best interests to do so.

John shoved Sebastian away from him, then stalked over to the box of toys Ozzy had cleaned. When he got what he wanted from it, he turned and faced Seb, waving a gag in his direction. "This will shut you up." He pushed it into their second toy's mouth and buckled it up behind his head. "Shame you can't really move much," John laughed, tugging at the rope.

Sherlock, as usual, had forgot to lock the door. Mrs. Hudson came in wondering where her boys were and seeing the door ajar. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Before anyone could say anything, she walked over and kicked the bound man. "That's for threatening my boys."

John gaped at her in shock. Both Holmes brothers weren't doing much better. When it had happened with Moriarty, it had been funny, but they were surprised she knew who he was.

"I see you boys have your hands full. Again. I'll bring you down something for dinner later. But just this once. I'm not your housekeeper." With that, she left, pointedly locking the door behind her as she went.

The three men who weren't currently on their knees stared at the door in shock.

Seb tried to curl himself into a ball, trying to protect himself somewhat.

John blinked a few times, then stood, announcing, "I need tea." He marched to the small kitchenette, washed his hands and put the kettle on. He still couldn't believe what had just happened, although, their landlady had got used to Ozzy quickly enough.

"Brother dear, I most definitely understand what you see in your landlady."

Sherlock laughed. "He doesn't," he pointed at Seb, then reached down and snatched up his leash, dragging him across the room.

Sherlock deposited him in the corner. "Don't move from that spot." He chuckled to himself. It would be almost impossible for the man to go anywhere. Sherlock sat in the leather chair and regarded his brother. "What additional changes do you plan to make to the flat?"

"Well as John put it, you've been quite soft with him up until now. I'll put an additional cage in there and add some more toys for you to play with him, but he should stay here for a while longer. It was well over a month before Ozzy came out."

The doctor reappeared with tea for the three of them. He passed around the mugs, then settled on the sofa with his own tea. He took a sip and swallowed.

"This is far more fun now we know what we are doing."

In the corner, Seb laughed around his gag.

"John, can you do something about him?" Sherlock complained.

With slow, deliberate motions, John set his tea down, then he stood. Taking his time, he walked over to Moran and grabbed the rope hanging from his cock and pulled it, then he flipped the sniper over and tied the end of it to his collar, making it quite taut. This left Seb laying there with his back painfully arched.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to laugh.

"That will do it."

John almost skipped across the room and dropped in Sherlock's lap.

"Yep."

The detective kissed John quite thoroughly, earning an eye roll from Mycroft.

"When the two of you are quite finished."

Sherlock broke off the kiss and grinned at his brother.

"You would be doing it with Lestrade if he was here," Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft let a small smile fill his face.

"What?"

"It's a good job I invited him then."

The detective groaned, but John just laughed.

"You'll survive, you enormous git," the doctor teased. "I'm sure they won't be too disgusting. Well, no more than we are."

When Greg turned up he went straight to Mycroft and snogged him, already knowing they were in the basement flat.

"Disgusting," Sherlock protested.

"Yes," Mycroft said without a sign of remorse.

The detective reached behind himself and pulled out a pillow, then launched it at his brother's head.

Mycroft ducked away from it easily enough.

“Where’s the other one?” The DI asked.

“Upstairs in its cage,” Sherlock told him. “Probably asleep.”

Greg had walked across the room and crouched down beside the bound Sebastian, he tilted his head on one side. "I like you like this," he said with a grin.

In response, Seb growled around the gag.


	25. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted

With a look at how their second dog was bound, Greg pulled on the rope that connected Moran's cock to his collar. The sound he was making changed immediately to a whine.

Greg’s grin got wider. "I like you like this a lot." He got to his feet and spun on his toe. "Who's for food? I'm starving."

John laughed. "Mrs. Hudson said she'd bring something down for us."

"Then shouldn't we get that out of sight?" the DI asked, pointing to Seb.

At that sentence, Seb started thrashing where he was tied.

"You underestimate our landlady, Graham," Sherlock said, reaching up to peck John on the nose. "Again. She reacted the same way she did with Ozzy."

Eventually, Moran realised the only person he was hurting was himself and he went still again.

"I always thought she was just a sweet old lady. You're saying she's okay with this again? Really ok?" Greg couldn’t believe it.

"Her husband ran a drug cartel. She's hardly a civilian, Gavin,” Sherlock said with an eyeroll.

"Fucking shut up!" Greg said around a laugh.

Sherlock shrugged. "She actually came in here, saw him and kicked him as hard as she could."

The DI glanced at Mycroft to see if the detective was telling the truth. Mycroft simply smiled and inclined his head. At that, the DI went over and collapsed onto his boyfriend's lap.

"What have you been doing with him?" Greg asked after a moment, watching the trussed up man.

"Not a lot, in all honesty. The cases you've been bringing me have kept me entertained and distracted from him. Using Ozzy has helped."

John spoke up. "Mycroft is bringing in a second cage and a few more toys."

"So I'll be seeing less of the two of you for a while," the DI lamented.

"At the beginning," John agreed. "You know how it works. Of course, you could join us."

Greg shrugged. "I might just do that. I've been working long hours the last few days."

That didn't make an impression on Sherlock who only worked when he wanted to, but John grimaced in sympathy. "Any hope of things slowing down?" the doctor asked.

"It should calm down soon- I hope."

Sherlock scowled. "Why don't you 'help him out', big bro? You are, after all, 'the clever one'."

Mycroft was saved from having to respond by Mrs. Hudson's timely arrival. She had their dinner in a basket and simply carried it through to set it on the table. "Now be sure Sherlock eats. He's dreadfully thin." She gave him one of her motherly smiles, then returned upstairs.

It was Greg's turn to stare at the door, mouth agape.

"Told you, mate," John said with a grin as he began taking things out of the basket. "She cares no more about this one than she did with the last one."

"Must that thing watch us whilst we eat?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock went to a box of toys they had and pulled out a hood. Sebastian started writhing on the floor, despite how much discomfort it caused him, trying to back away. With just a few steps, Sherlock approached him and pulled the hood over his head, pulling the buckles tight. Moran couldn't see anything. Sherlock left the nose holes uncovered so he could still breathe, if only slightly.

"That's better," Mycroft said with a grin.

The four men sat at the temporary table and ate, enjoying the food Mrs. Hudson had provided. It was excellent as always. The entire time, John kept an eye on their guest in the corner.

Seb had continued thrashing around for many minutes until he had eventually calmed.

"Mycroft can you get a move on with the new cage?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.

The government official nodded. "I'll have it here in the morning."

"Did you hear that, doggy?" Sherlock yelled out. "We are going to have a new cage just for you!"

John ran his hand through Sherlock's curls. "I love you, you big idiot."

Sherlock shrugged and snatched a scone from the plate John had filled.

The rest of the evening proved rather uneventful, with the exception of a few tantrums on Seb's part. They never lasted long, though, as the four men took it in turns to deal with them.

* * *

The next day found them back down in C.

"Shame we can't take the new dog upstairs yet," Sherlock said with a pout.

John shrugged. "No, but we can play a bit more. Maybe he will break soon."

The detective's pout turned to a smile, "Would you mind closing and locking the door, John? We don't want to disturb Mrs. Hudson."

"She would love it," John countered.

"Fine. But… I want to break him a bit first. The room is only soundproofed when the door's shut."

Moran started struggling again. Sherlock grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back. "None of that, now. Even if you were to get free, you couldn't get out of this room. Only four people can open that door from the inside. You're not one of them."

Sebastian glared at him and Sherlock's expression turned into a flat smile. He let him go and casually smacked his clenched fist across his face. With his hands cuffed Moran could only fall to the side with a grunt.

The detective rested his foot on Seb's throat casually. "There's so much to use in here. I don't know where to start today."

John pulled over a bench. "Then start by throwing him over this."

Sherlock looked down at their tied up toy and grinned. He dragged him to his knees by his hair and threw him heavily over the bench.

John found a pair of ankle cuffs and carabiners and in almost no time had the sniper's ankles attached to the bench, his legs spread wide.

Seb's expression said it all, he clearly wanted to fight and struggle, but was cautioning himself against it. It likely wouldn't end well for him.

The doctor started unravelling the rope work that he had so painstakingly placed on Seb the day before. Sherlock stood nearby, keeping a tight grip on Seb's hair as a warning to behave. It took a few minutes for John to get the rope off and get rid of it. Then he began to tie him down to the bench. When he had finished, John stood up and admired his work. "He's in as good a position as any to start on all those punishments he's earned these few weeks."

Sherlock clapped his hands. "Good. We'll start with an enema then."

There was a knock on the door and then the lock switched. "Can I play?" Mycroft asked.

"Absolutely," John said, before Sherlock could make a snide comment.

Mycroft placed his umbrella in the corner, then walked around the bench, observing how Moran was restrained. "It's nice to see you've already put some of the items in here to good use on this dog.”

Sherlock had a nozzle in his hand and was examining it closely.

Mycroft couldn't help himself, he stepped forward and sat on Moran's back. The sniper tried to buck him off and Mycroft slapped his arse, hard. "Stop that this instant!" the government official chided. "You definitely need to learn obedience and control."

Seb laughed contemptuously, something he wouldn’t have done if he’d still had the hood on.

Mycroft found a ring gag from the unit and wedged it between Seb's teeth instead. Then he shoved three fingers in his mouth.

At approximately the same time, Sherlock started working the nozzle for the enema into Sebastian's hole. The sniper made a sound of protest that was distorted by Mycroft's fingers.

"Isn't he cute?" Mycroft asked with a smirk.

"Not cute, no," John replied whacking Seb's arse with the riding crop he had picked up.

Sebastian made a gurgling sound, causing Sherlock to give a satisfied laugh. "Oh, do that again, John."

The doctor brought the crop down across Seb's arse six times in quick succession.

"I'm pretty sure he would have bitten my fingers if he could have," Mycroft let out a laugh and John looked up in surprise. "You might not have noticed before, John, but I'm not a complete robot."

"You do perform a good imitation, but Sherlock used to do that too, so, yeah, I'm not completely surprised." John grinned at Mycroft as he struck the sniper’s arse without even looking.

Seb began thrashing again. Trying to fight and pull his way to freedom. The three men just stood back and watched until his muffled complaints fell silent once more.

When the bag was empty, Sherlock grabbed an anal plug, lubing it up. "Don't lose a drop, or we'll just start over." He removed the nozzle and replaced it with the plug.

After a few minutes, Seb's face took on an uncomfortable expression. Just to make things worse - or better, depending on the point of view - John began whacking the sniper's arse with his crop again.

Seb writhed as much as his bonds would allow. He wanted nothing more than to break free and tear the three of them apart, if not for what they were going to do to him, then what they'd done to Jim.

John struck him all the harder and faster.

"You thrashing around like a beached whale doesn't make any sense," Sherlock pointed out. "All you do is waste energy you don't have on a problem you can't fix."

Seb glared at him and growled low in his chest. He tried to kick his feet, but they were securely bound. He didn't even succeed in shifting the bench.

Mycroft walked to the shelves against one wall and gathered up a dildo on a pole. He stood a few feet in front of Sebastian and pushed it through the gag in his mouth.

The sniper's eyes narrowed in defiance. It was as though he dared Mycroft to keep pushing until the dildo went down his throat, but the ring kept it from penetrating deeper.

Sherlock folded his arms and leant back against the wall, watching them both at work. He couldn't wait for when Sebastian was putty in their hands. It would mean one less danger to be contained in a cell and a companion for Ozzy, but that looked to be a long time away.

The expression on Seb's face now showed discomfort as the enema started to make his insides cramp. Still, he couldn't have begged for mercy even if he had been willing to, what between the gag and the dildo in his mouth.

Mycroft watched closely and saw the man continue to glare so he didn't let up, he couldn't, not with the way Moran seemed to be fighting everything.

After a few more minutes, Mycroft asked the sniper if he'd like to ask permission to apologise to Sherlock and John for falling asleep two nights ago. "Blink twice for yes and we might consider it."

Moran clearly thought about it, eventually he blinked twice.

The government official shrugged and rammed the dildo back into his mouth. "Earn it!"

Sebastian figured out what Mycroft wanted and, to his utter humiliation, he started fellating the dildo. He felt ridiculous, but he needed relief from the enema and he thought it might be the only way to get it.

Mycroft let a small smile cross his lips. "Good doggy," he whispered sarcastically. He kept pushing it in his mouth for another minute before asking the same question again.

Seb blinked twice immediately.

"What do you think, brother mine. It wants to ask if it may apologise."

Sebastian whimpered and kept sucking on the dildo, desperate for relief. He tried to turn his eyes so he could see Sherlock, but the detective had moved around behind him.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Sorry, doggy, Sherlock says no."

Sebastian whimpered, but kept sucking on the dildo, putting in as much effort as he could to suck it. He promised himself he'd tear them apart for doing this to him, but not until he had hurt and humiliated them and everyone they cared about.

After a few more minutes, Sherlock spoke. "Now he can ask for permission."

Mycroft removed the dildo from Sebastian's mouth and dropped the stick on which it was mounted. Next, he unbuckled the ring gag. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

He worked his mouth quickly, trying to regain control of it. "Can I apologise?" Sebastian asked simply. It was all he could do to keep from trying to kill Mycroft despite his predicament. He'd have to bide his time.

John smacked the crop down on his arse. "You are going to have to do much, much better than that."

Seb tensed his muscles at the strike, wanting to break the crop over John's shoulders. "Can I apologise, sir, sirs? Please." He made sure to sound positively desperate. He'd reclaim his dignity later, and his pound of flesh.

Sherlock waited for a nod from John before answering. He crouched down in front of his toy. "Master."

Sebastian's response caught in his throat... "Can I apologise, master?" He managed eventually, hiding his fury. Sherlock didn't deserve the title, none of them did.

Sherlock stared into his eyes. "I don't know-"

"Please, master." Seb forced actual tears to fill his eyes as anger continued to filled his heart.

Sherlock stood up and crossed his arms. "Very well. Proceed."

Sebastian stumbled artfully over his words, water was racking through his body and he kept wanting to rage at the men, but he wanted to be convincingly desperate.

"Master, please, I'm sorry."

"And now to John," the detective ordered.

Seb looked at John, not sure what say to convince him. "I'm sorry-"

"Sir," Sherlock supplied.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Try harder," Mycroft ordered.

"Please," Seb heard himself beg falsely. He needed them to think they were making progress.

Mycroft stepped towards him and grabbed him by the hair. "Why are you apologising to my brother?"

"For sleeping... sir?" Seb was starting to get confused. Had he done something else wrong? Had the lie not worked? He desperately hoped not as he needed relief.

"Is that a question?" Mycroft asked.

"No, sir," he whispered. "For sleeping. I'm sorry for sleeping."

"Right."

John placed a foot over the plug and pressed. "I suppose we could remove this, but it has helped him to behave."

"Mm. As soon as he's emptied himself out, I want him stuffed with a large plug to remind him we can always do it again," Sherlock declared.

Seb glanced up, aching and hurt. "But-"

"Shut it," Sherlock ordered. "John…"

The doctor gathered up a bucket and placed it beneath the sniper's arse.

In anticipation of the upcoming humiliation, the determined, but false slave closed his eyes, but it didn't stop him from gasping in relief or turning bright red.

Mycroft slapped his cheek. "Open your eyes. You don't get to hide from us, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered instantly. The water gushed from him and he buried his head into his arms.

That would never do. Mycroft grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head up revealing his face. "There will be no hiding in any way or we start over."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft let go and Moran reluctantly kept his head up.

"You are nothing,” Mycroft stated, “that means you have no shame, are we clear on that?"

When Seb didn't immediately respond, Mycroft reached down and grabbed his cock in his fist. It wasn't until the government official gave it a painful squeeze that he finally got a response.

"Yes, sir," Seb said, discomfort clear in his voice, "very clear." He decided Mycroft would be the first to feel his wrath when he got free.

"Was that sarcasm?" John asked sharply.

"No, sir," Seb said carefully as Mycroft tightened his grip. "It wasn't, sir, I promise!"

John cleaned Sebastian off none too gently, then went to dispose of the consulting criminal's mess.

Sherlock had already picked out a very large plug, lubed it up and was approaching him from behind.

Seb struggled, trying to get away, but of course he was going nowhere. "Please," he said, trying to sound cowed. "Please no."

"Shut up, dog."

Sherlock worked the large plug into Seb a bit at a time without any preparation. He didn't just shove it in, he wasn't that cruel, but he did want it to burn as it stretched him open.

The amount Sebastian was writhing and the amount of times John whacked him with the crop, proved just how much it really was burning.

Sweat had built up on the sniper's brow and his face was completely flushed. He decided Sherlock would be his second target.

Mycroft made a show of pulling over a chair to watch the proceedings.

A brief glare flew across Seb's face, but he quickly shooed it away. He couldn't let Mycroft see it. The government official would know he wasn't as broken as he was letting on.

Mycroft picked up a cane. Every now and again, he bounced it off the back of Seb's head. He wasn't hitting him hard enough to hurt, but from the look on the man's face, it was definitely annoying.

Sherlock finally got the plug fully seated. He tapped it a few times and watched Sebastian's muscles clench around it. "I don't know about the two of you, but I'm actually hungry. Something about dealing with this thing makes me want to eat and spend time with John. Let's leave him tied here for a bit."

Seb thrashed again and Mycroft hit his arse with the cane, hard enough to make him jerk. "You don't get to have an opinion. Little brother, do you want to keep it gagged or not?"

"Go ahead," Sherlock said, giving his permission. "Anything that makes him more uncomfortable is fine with me."

Mycroft let the cane clatter to the floor in favour of finding a suitable gag for the sniper. He returned with a large ball which he swapped and wedged it between his teeth. "I hope your jaw aches soon," Mycroft said, patting his cheek.

Seb growled, forgetting his plan to appear partly broken.

"I can't believe this thing," John said, then let the riding crop fly through the air, striking him five more times. When Moran fell still, he dropped the crop on his back and headed out of the room and up the stairs after the two Holmeses.

Sherlock had already got Mrs. Hudson's leftovers out of the fridge.

"I can't believe you're actually going to eat something," the doctor said, pulling up a chair. "Maybe all you ever needed was a toy or two."

"It's not exactly like he could have just got them off the street," Mycroft pointed out. "And anyway, he had plenty of toys as a child."

"You used to break them!" Sherlock accused.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You used to put them beside my bed, knowing I would tread on them."

"I don't think anyone will cry if this particular toy should break," John noted between bites.

Mycroft made an indelicate sound that was completely unlike him. "It would take a lot to break Moran. He simply takes things as they come and I'm pretty sure he's playing right now."

John agreed with Mycroft's assessment completely, remembering that last growl Seb had given. "I think you're right about that. I don't trust him at all."

"What did you do with Ozzy when he was like that?" Mycroft asked.

"Let him play the game. He wore himself out in the end."

Mycroft chuckled dryly, "Sounds about right." He stretched. "John, I find I actually desire a beer. Between yourself and Greg, you have corrupted me."

John snorted. "Don't blame me. Mine doesn't drink beer."

Mycroft let his eyebrow raise.

"Often," the doctor finished. "Ignore all that. That was a lie. Ozzy, get beers for all of us. Get yourself some water."

The Irishman rushed off to do as ordered. He wanted to be his best for them so they wouldn't forget about him. He rushed back with the drinks and knelt beside Sherlock.

"Good doggy," Sherlock muttered, running his hand through his hair briefly.

That gesture only made Ozzy more determined not to be replaced by the man down in C. That man wasn't worthy to kiss his master's shoes.

He didn't know that man and he didn't want him to become Master's new favourite.

"I almost feel more justified in what we're doing to Moran, baby brother, than I did to dear Jim," Mycroft said after taking a sip of his beer. "Moran wasn't satisfied with being a sniper. He enjoyed a more personal touch whenever he could risk it to kill. He liked to make his victims suffer."

"I don't know how long before he will break. I can't compare him to me. I would compare him to John,” Sherlock said thoughtfully.

"Me?" the doctor spluttered. "Why me? You're the one that ignores broken bones and knife wounds."

"Those are inconveniences, John," Sherlock pointed out. "What I am talking about is a concentrated effort to break a person. You would endure it much better than I."

He frowned. "You're talking shit."

"Am I? Really?"

"Yes!"

Sherlock snorted. "Bullshit."

Mycroft found himself smiling. "Despite my all too hasty first impressions of you, John, I believe my brother is correct. I thought you had potential, but I should have seen there was even more to you that evening in the car park."

John got to his feet and paced away. "Both of you are talking shit," he stopped at the door.

Ozzy looked on, thinking the brothers were probably right. He had a vague sense that he had once thought less of the doctor, but he respected him completely now. Mainly, because he knew what would happen if he didn't respect John.

"I need Greg here. He'd be on my side," the doctor declared, then he muttered, "Holmeses," under his breath and resumed his seat.

As if the DI had heard John from across the city, Sherlock's phone pinged. He looked at the screen and read the brief message Greg had left. "It seems your boyfriend requires our presence, brother-mine."

"Why didn't he text me?" Mycroft asked, outraged.

Sherlock chuckled and typed a quick message.

The reply was nearly instantaneous. "The dog is coming."

The look on the government official's face was priceless and John couldn't help but chuckle. He tried to suppress it but failed, even as he ordered, "Go put on some clothes, dog."

Ozzy crawled into John and Sherlock's bedroom and over to the corner where his few clothes were kept, then began to get dressed. In minutes Ozzy was ready and following the others outside.


	26. Respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted

Several days later, the former consulting criminal was shaking heavily as he knelt outside 221C beside Mycroft.

Sherlock and John piled in through the front door and found themselves face to face with them. The detective snapped his fingers and patted his thigh, indicating Ozzy should come to him. The Irishman did so gratefully, leaning against Sherlock's leg.

"I was enjoying his company, little brother."

"Oh well. He is my dog. Isn't that right, Ozzy?"

"Yes, master," Jim nodded.

John rolled his eyes and stepped past the three of them, then he opened the door to C. The stench was strong. That wasn't surprising considering how long Moran had been left... alone.

On sight of the hanging Moran, Ozzy shivered. He remembered all too well what it felt like to be where the other man had been for days. He turned his face into Sherlock's leg.

John walked over to stare at the sniper. For once, the man finally looked affected by his stay at Baker Street.

"Having fun up there? Our new dog." Sherlock joined John, leaving Ozzy with his brother. He reached up and removed the gag.

"Piss off," the sniper whispered.

"Oi!" John barked.

At that tone of voice, Moran flinched.

The detective grabbed his boyfriend and pulled him towards the bathroom, Mycroft following close behind.

"Ozzy, stay there!"

"Yes, master."

"It's you," Sherlock muttered closing the door behind them. He trusted Ozzy with John's life. Ozzy wouldn't touch Moran, even if he remembered him.

"What's me?"

"All of it. It's you. He reacts to you."

"You're confusing me."

"The army… your tone of voice. He tells me to piss off, seconds later he flinches at you."

Without thinking about it, John fell into a military stance. "No." He gave his head a jerk to the side. "That can't be right."

Off to the side, Mycroft nodded. "My brother is correct, John."

"But-"

"I'll prove it."

Mycroft nodded once. He'd seen it too. "It can't be obvious. If he knows what we are up to I highly doubt it will work."

"Ok."

"What would you suggest?" John asked of the government official.

"Go and give him an order. Anything."

"Oh, like what? He's on the cross. It's not like he can do anything."

"Make him apologise for how he spoke to me," Sherlock offered.

John threw his hands in the air. "Fine. If it will make you happy, fine."

Sherlock paused at the door, arms folded to watch. His brother stood just in front of him.

The doctor walked straight up to the man on the cross and yanked his head back by the hair. "You were rude to my boyfriend. I don't like that. Apologise. Now."

Moran cut his eyes over towards Sherlock as best he could. "I apologise, sir." He ignored ‘master’ on purpose as it was John doing the commanding right now.

Sherlock turned his back on him and smirked to himself, a look that matched Mycroft's.

"You won't be rude to Sherlock again, will you, dog?"

"No, sir."

"Captain!" Mycroft snapped across the room.

"What?" John asked in shock.

"Not sir. Captain," Mycroft ordered joining them.

It even surprised the detective when Moran glanced at John as if for confirmation.

"You heard him," John snapped, "it's captain."

"Yes, s- captain," Moran affirmed, glancing at Sherlock.

“I’m not your master any more. I am Ozzy’s only. John is your captain so I highly doubt you should forget it.”

John watched for a reaction, but the trussed up man was too tired to give him one. Then he glanced at Ozzy. "Get him down, boy. Put him over the bench. The normal cuffs and collar."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy whispered.

As Sherlock pulled him aside, Mycroft joined them again, but watched the two slaves.

"See," the detective whispered into John's ear. "It's you. You have to take over as his master. It can't be me, not this time."

"But I don't-"

"What's wrong? You practically own Ozzy with me."

The doctor sighed. "I know." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, but I never imagined anything like this."

They both looked over as Sebastian fell heavily to the floor when Ozzy unfastened the last of the buckles holding him to the cross.

"Hurry up, boy!" Mycroft snapped.

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master."

"Jim," Seb hissed. "Why you doing this?"

John, Sherlock and Mycroft went quiet, waiting to see how Ozzy answered. The Irishman didn't. He just dragged Moran to the bench and hefted him over it.

"You've done well, little brother," the government official whispered. He hadn't taken his eyes off of either of them.

Soon, Ozzy had Moran strapped to the bench. He knelt up next to it awaiting further orders from his master.

"Clean him, dog," Sherlock ordered. "I'm not touching him as filthy as he is."

"Yes, master."

Mycroft watched them closely as Ozzy disappeared into the bathroom with a bucket.

John still looked absolutely blindsided.

"Do you need a drink?" the government official asked.

"What? Oh, no." John walked over to Moran and looked down at him. "You disgust me!" he snapped. "You called yourself a soldier once. I disagree. You're pathetic."

"But, cap-"

"Shut up!" John kicked the sniper's arse. "I don't even want to look at you." The ex army doctor took a deep breath. "It needs water," he said in a voice shaking with anger. "I don't want to give it to him, but he's been too long without. Would you do it, Sherlock?"

"No."

"But-"

"Mycroft will do it. Won't you brother-mine?"

The government official inclined his head. "Of course."

Ozzy had made good progress with cleaning the sniper and the room was smelling fresher for it.

Sherlock bent and whispered in John's ear. "He should have to beg for the water. Don't forget. We can't go easy on him."

"Pretty sure your brother has it covered."

Mycroft snorted as he crossed the room with the bottle of water. When he got in front of Sebastian, he crouched and took a drink from the bottle of water, then he held it out and looked at it. "You'll be thirsty, I imagine."

Moran glared at him, as much as he could from his bound state.

"Oi!" John snapped.

Moran flinched. "Yes, sir. I'm thirsty, sir."

"Beg for it," Mycroft ordered.

Once again, he sniper glanced over at John. "Captain-"

John tutted. "Do as you are told, dog. Now."

"Please, I need the water. Please," Sebastian begged.

Mycroft seemed to be considering letting him have it, but John swept over and took the bottle from him. "The only way you get this is if you swear to call them sir. Both of them and Greg too."

His eyes widened. "But-"

John tipped the bottle up all over him and the sniper immediately began shivering. "Ozzy, upstairs," John ordered. "Now."

Ozzy nodded once. "Yes, sir."

The doctor hurried the two Holmeses towards the door.

"John, what was that about?" Sherlock asked.

"You've said he's mine. I'll deal with him as if he's a POW."

Mycroft snorted. "That's hardly how we treat them."

"You know how the enemy treats us," John said grimly. "That's what I'm going for."

"John, they don't-"

The doctor cut Mycroft off with a glare. "Don't even speak, Mycroft. You have no fucking idea."

The government official looked away. He did know what John was referring to, but he wasn't supposed to admit it. If the general public found out... It didn't bear thinking about.

John clearly knew the look on his face. "You may think you know, Mr British Government, but until you have experienced it…" he trailed off as Sherlock put his hand on his shoulder.

Mycroft had seen his share of photos and video, but he bowed his head knowing it must pale in comparison to what John had seen as a doctor on the front lines. He knew for a fact that John had treated more than one such liberated POW whilst in Afghanistan.

"Babe, you don't have to do it this way," Sherlock soothed.

The doctor glanced at his boyfriend, most surprised at his show of concern. "Yes I do."

Sherlock pulled him out into the hall, closed the door and hugged him fiercely. "I don't want you doing anything that will hurt you. I would rather give him back to Mycroft than do that."

"It won't. It will help. It's something stupid protocol got in the way of. A little… control over punishment and justice."

"If you're sure-"

"I am," John said with a determined nod, then he turned and went back into C.

Sherlock stared after him. "Ozzy, go upstairs and get us 3 beers. You can have a drink too. Bring them back into C and kneel by the door."

"Yes, master."

John went to the scantily stocked kitchen and selected a tea towel. He got it wet, squeezed most of the water out of it and went to crouch in front of Moran. "You can have all the water you can suck out of this towel." With that, he shoved it in the sniper's mouth.

Moran tried to spit the towel out, but couldn't quite manage it, John laughed. "Nice try." He stood up and crossed his arms. "Get to it! That's all you're getting."

Ozzy entered, bringing the drinks and flinched at the doctor's tone.

"It's alright, boy," Sherlock reached out and dropped his hand on Ozzy's head where he had dropped to his knees.

"Yes, master. Thank you." The Irishman stayed on his knees anyway as he passed out the drinks. For once, he was more intimidated by John than by Mycroft. Ozzy stayed completely still as the three of them sipped on their beer. Moving might upset one of them.

John felt the tension drain from his shoulders as he finished his beer and set the empty bottle aside. He let himself enjoy the feeling for a bit before going over and removing the towel from Moran's mouth and tossing it aside. It was obvious to the ex army captain that, whilst Moran might now be intimidated by him, he was far from broken.

Walking over to the table of toys, John perused the items available. He decided on a simple paddle, picking it up and smacking his thigh with it.

Ozzy watched as John paced around the trussed up sniper. He was unsure if he wanted to watch the actual beating the man was going to get. He looked up at Sherlock, a pleading look in his eyes.

The detective noticing, called him over and rested his hand in his hair, but he didn't give him permission to look away.

"Master-"

"Shh, boy. This is what happens if you go back to messing up all the time."

As the paddle came down hard on the bad man's arse, Ozzy promised himself he'd never mess up again. On the sixth stroke in the same place, Ozzy flinched and turned his head into Sherlock's leg. The detective gripped his hair in his fist and turned his head so he had to keep watching.

His arm growing tired, John tossed the paddle aside. "Thank me," he ordered Moran. "Tell me how much my efforts are appreciated."

Sherlock watched on, honestly wondering which way it would fall.

Moran was still breathing heavily. "Thank you, captain," the sniper said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that will never do."

"But I said thank you."

John gripped his hair and yanked his head back. "Do I look stupid?" He asked.

Seb grunted at the rough handling, but didn't say anything further.

"That was a question, dog!" John spat.

Moran tried to pull his head free from John's hand, but didn't manage it. "No, captain."

John shoved his head back so that it thudded against the bench. "Mycroft," the ex army captain called out, startling the man. "Drag over the fucking machine. Our new dog needs some time on it."

Seb started shaking his head. "No," he moaned.

"Do I look like I care what you think?"

"Please!" The sniper started fighting his restraints and trying to get free, but it was pointless.

"Ozzy, fetch him a gag," John ordered.

The former consulting criminal glanced at Sherlock first, then at his nod he said, "Yes, sir."

Knowing what he himself hated, Ozzy fetched a large dildo shaped gag that would be very uncomfortable and took it to John.

The doctor smirked as Ozzy handed the gag over. "Good boy," he petted his head and then pushed him back towards Sherlock.

Sebastian clamped his jaw tight against the gag the moment he saw it, but John pressed hard on the hinge point and forced his mouth open. "This is going in there. I don't care how much I hurt you to make that happen."

Sherlock snorted from across the room.

With obvious reluctance, Moran opened his mouth and let John shove the gag in. It bounced uncomfortably off the back of his throat before it settled and was buckled in place. He absolutely loathed it.

John smirked, "You'll learn eventually."

Sherlock snorted. "No he won't."

"Shut up," John laughed. "Yours did."

The fucking machine was now sat behind the sniper. Sherlock gave Ozzy a shove in Seb's direction. "Go get that dildo in him and turn the machine on."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock watched as his slave did exactly what he was told, just as if he had no idea who Moran was.

Mycroft caught his brother's eye. "It's quite interesting how thoroughly he's forgotten everything."

"We said before, weeks ago, that if he was to find Moran he'd revert," Sherlock mused.

Mycroft shrugged. "I wasn't imagining this sort of reunion."

At that, John snorted. "Who would have imagined it?" He stretched out his left shoulder. "I need out of here for a bit."

Mycroft hummed to himself. "Ozzy, come here."

Cautiously he shifted, then crawled across the room towards the government official. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, but he could never be sure where Mycroft was concerned.

Mycroft ruffled his hair. "Go up ahead and get us another beer."

"Yes, sir," he nodded once then scarpered out of the room.

Rather than leave the room, John had crossed over to Sherlock who now stood massaging the doctor's bad shoulder. "Let me do the roughing up next time, John. I can follow orders. I'll do exactly as you say."

The doctor laughed.

"What?"

"You've never done what you're told in your entire life."

Sherlock pouted. "I would. For you."

John turned around and kissed him. "Thank you, babe, but don't make promises you can't keep." Sherlock’s pout got bigger. "You can wipe that away."

"Why?"

"Because all it does is prove my point." John burst out laughing.

Mycroft wished his own boyfriend was present. He was starting to feel unnecessary to the proceedings. Fortunately, Ozzy returned with the renewed supply of beer, giving the government official something to do besides miss Greg.

Mycroft glanced up from his beer at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "Gregory!" He yelled out when the door opened.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Donovan said she'd cover!" He skipped across to Mycroft and dropped on his lap.

"At least she's good for something," Sherlock grumbled to his boyfriend.

John couldn't bring himself to berate his boyfriend, not for the likes of Donovan.

"Moran must have been trouble," Greg said as he took Mycroft's beer and drank from it.

"Nothing Johnny can't handle," Sherlock said with a smirk.

That time, the doctor did smack Sherlock on the back of the head. "I refuse to answer to that, Shirls."

"Shirls!" the detective squeaked.

Mycroft snorted. "I don't know why you bother, little brother. Ozzy, go and fetch me another beer, seeing as this lump stole mine."

Part of Moran's brain, a tiny part not overwhelmed by what was happening to him, was appalled by the casual way the four men were acting. It made him feel that bit more humiliated. He groaned as the dildo pumped into him over and over. As if he wasn't exhausted enough. And humiliated enough.

John turned and watched him. "Looks like he's sulking," he said with a snort.

"As if I care. He'll be too tired to sulk soon enough." Sherlock kissed John on the cheek. "I plan on letting that machine fuck him for a long time yet."

"That isn't your decision, Sherlock."

The detective frowned. "John-"

"He's mine. As Ozzy is yours."

"Oh. Yes."

John laughed. "For someone so smart, you forgot that remarkably quick. Or did you delete it?"

Sherlock poked his tongue out.

"Do that again, little boy and I'll bite it off."

Across the room, both Greg and Mycroft burst out laughing at the pair as Ozzy returned with another bear for the older man and dropped to his knees.

"I love how John handles your brother," Greg told his boyfriend. "It's adorable."

On the bench, Moran groaned.

"Master?"

Sherlock turned to face his slave. "What do you want, boy?"

Ozzy ducked his head, looking away.

"Speak. Or never interrupt us again."

"I don't like the way he is looking at you, Master."

Collectively, everyone turned to look at Moran. The sniper didn't bother to hide his loathing.

"Hmm…" the detective reached out and absently stroked his pet's head. "Good spot, Ozzy."

"Thank you, Master," he whispered.

John made an angry sound. "That'll never do." He crossed over and slapped Moran.

Seb's head snapped back with a crack, but his loathing look was still there when he refaced the doctor.

John slapped him again. "You don't get to look at Sherlock like that. Ozzy, fetch me a hood." The hood wouldn't be the end of it. The sniper had to be punished.

Ozzy returned immediately and didn't hesitate when John ordered him to use it on Seb. Ozzy quickly yanked it over his head, Moran thrashing the whole time. He turned to John and knelt. "Thank you, sir."

John didn't bother with an 'you're welcome'. Instead, he told him, "Good boy. Go to Sherlock."

Sherlock snorted. "I was expecting you to have a go at him."

"For?" The doctor asked.

"Well… you did that for you not him."

"Good behaviour should be rewarded," John said absently as he looked over the implements on the table. "Just as bad behaviour should be punished." He picked up the riding crop and turned back to face Seb. He could tell that Seb had realised what he had in his hand because the sniper had fallen completely still. It didn't matter to him if Moran knew. He drew back and let the crop fly.

"Boy, come here," Sherlock ordered, he held his hand out.

The former consulting criminal scampered across the room and knelt beside Sherlock, revelling in his master's hand in his hair. For the first time that he could remember, he felt proud of himself. He had done something good.

John kept at it with the crop for a few more minutes before Sherlock stood up.

"Give it to me, babe."

"What?"

"The crop," Sherlock said. "You're tired. I'll take over for you." He held out his hand expectantly.

"I can-"

"Now, John. I've already said I'll do what you want. I don't want you hurting yourself anymore."

John actually glanced at Mycroft for help.

"My little brother is right, John."

Greg just shrugged. Even he could tell John's shoulder was bothering him. "Let him do it, mate."

John huffed with annoyance and threw the crop at Sherlock, expecting him to drop it.

The detective caught it easily and, without missing a beat, turned to face Moran. He started striking him with the crop. "You shouldn't upset John. He's your better and your master."

Behind the gag, Moran laughed. When Sherlock struck his cock hanging down the side of the bench, he fell still completely.

The detective laughed. It served Sebastian right. He'd make sure the sniper knew who was in control.

"Enough." John took the crop from Sherlock and tossed it on the nearby table. "I'm ready to leave him on his own a bit longer." He looked Seb up and down. "I'll come back and feed him later. I can't look at him for a moment longer."

Seb groaned from where he was trussed, but none of them responded.

Sherlock snapped on a leash to Ozzys collar. He pulled him along behind him as the four men filed out of the room.

John shot one last look back at Moran and gave a grim nod. The sniper would break eventually. He was sure of it.

It ended up being several days again, just like what had happened when Ozzy was Moriarty.

Seb was completely sagging when they walked in. He heard them, but he was too weak to beg for what he needed most: water. All he managed to do was moan.

John walked straight up to him and grabbed his cock in his fist, giving it a sharp tug and a twist for good measure.

Moran let out a groan. He'd do anything, put up with anything, if only his misery would end.

After several more circuits around the trussed up man John ripped off the hood.

The sniper blinked several times, the light hurting his eyes. At the sight of the ex army captain, he cringed, and dropped his eyes to the floor. John looked furious.

After a moment, John reached down and tugged the gag free.

Moran didn't even have the energy to work his mouth after its stiffness.

John patted him on the head. "Look at you, dog. You can't even greet your captain properly." He slapped him hard, despite the awkward angle. "But I'm merciful. I'm going to let you have water anyway."

Moran dropped his head in relief, it was difficult straining to watch the Doctor.

"Only joking." He turned to Ozzy. "What did Sherlock do to you when you hurt Greg? When you wrapped your fingers around his throat."

Ozzy shook his head in a panic. He couldn't let himself remember doing such a thing... hurting someone... angering master so. He crumpled into a heap on the floor and whimpered.

"Fuck," John hissed. "He ran to the door and yelled up the stairs. "Sherlock!"

The tone in his voice clearly held a panic to it because Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs to B immediately. "What?"

"I fucked up."

Sherlock almost slid down the stairs to C where John gestured to Ozzy who was curled up on the floor.

"What did you do to my toy?!" Sherlock exclaimed. He rushed over to Ozzy and knelt down beside him, resting his hand on his toy's shoulder. Ozzy practically vibrated under his hand. "John?"

"I asked about before. About when he was down here."

"What exactly did you say to him?" John repeated it word for word and Ozzy's shivering increased threefold beneath the detective's hand.

"Well that's a surprise." Sherlock stroked Ozzy's arm, trying to calm him down. "Hush, now boy. No one is angry with you. It's all in the past."

"I don't understand, Master." He glanced at the doctor. "What was John talking about?"

Sherlock's eyebrow shot up and disappeared behind his curls. "You really don't remember?" At Ozzy's blank expression, the detective ruffled his dog's hair. "It's just as well."

"Why?" John asked.

"He's forgotten Moriarty. Why not the rest of it?" Sherlock shrugged. "You can come upstairs with me dog, John will deal with that one."

Ozzy let out a sound of gratitude and bent to kiss Sherlock's feet. "Thank you, master."

Sherlock thought he could hear the sound of unshed tears in the former consulting criminal's voice. "Don't be down here too long, John," Sherlock called over his shoulder. "And don't hurt yourself."

"Oh, I'm not the one who's going to get hurt," the doctor called after him. He wrapped a hand around Seb's throat from above him. "All I have to do is squeeze." John matched deed to word.

Moran was well past exhausted, he couldn't fight.

John stepped back. "I suppose you want water now, dog."

"Please... master," Sebastian said through parched lips. If he didn't get water soon, he would surely die. At least, he thought he would. He had long since lost track of time.

John snorted and gripped Seb by the hair. He yanked his head back. "I am not your master, dog. I am your captain, you'd do well to remember that. Or maybe I'll let Mycroft play with you."

Moran would have cried at that had he had tears. He just wanted water. Nothing else. His brain was muddled, confused. "I'm sorry, captain. Please. Water."

John shook his head and paced away from the trussed up sniper.

"Please," Moran begged as loudly as he could. By this point the doctor had reached the stairs. The sniper let out a great sob. He was a far cry from the tough man he had tried to be in front of Sherlock. In fact, he was quite pathetic.

John turned on his toe and folded his arms. "Why should I? Pathetic little man, trussed up down there, despising Sherlock."

Moran shook his head from side to side, letting it thud into the uncomfortable bench. "It's what he did to Jim," he said in a pitiful tone.

"You mean what I did." John crossed over and stood inches from Seb. "I hurt your precious Jim. Sherlock is the one who took care of him, who offered him comfort. If you want to hate someone, hate me," he challenged.

Moran's eyes widened in shock. "But-"

John slapped him. "I've decided otherwise. You won't hate anyone. You'll serve me like a good dog and you'll respect Sherlock. You'll respect his brother and Greg. And you'll respect Ozzy. First dog in the pack is a pack leader, is it not?"


	27. What's in a Name

Moran lay on the thin mattress in the corner of C. He was cuffed hand and foot and chained to the wall by the collar he had been forced to wear. He hadn't been there long. A few hours, max, and he was still exhausted. He stared at the ceiling contemplating a way out, when deep down he knew there was none, if there was, Jim would have found it and he wasn't as smart as Jim was.

Moran let out a long sigh. He longed to shift positions, but he could barely move. Nothing he managed to do seemed to help much. It was getting to the point he would be glad for someone to come through the door.

* * *

John walked into the front room and frowned at the kneeling slave. "Ozzy, what are you doing?"

Ozzy glanced up then bowed his head. John crossed the room quickly and glanced at the iPad that sat on the table. On it was the video feed from C. "Watching, sir."

"Why?"

The Irishman almost shrugged, but caught himself. "I don't trust him, sir," he said instead. There was something about the man in the downstairs flat that made him nervous.

John frowned down at him, "At ease, dog. Keep up the good work. Sherlock! Oi Sherlock! Have you seen this?" Sherlock appeared from the bedroom as Ozzy settled on his bum rather than his knees, with his hands in his lap.

"Seen what?"

"Your dog is turning into a guard dog."

Sherlock responded to John's smile with one of his own. "When I said Ozzy might be useful, I admit I never imagined this scenario." He walked over to see what was on the iPad, completely unsurprised at what he found. He let his hand fall to Ozzy's hair as he ruffled it slightly. "Ozzy, I want you to go downstairs. Take a bowl of water, leave it just out of reach of that," he pointed at the screen. "Then come back up here to me."

"Yes, Master." Ozzy rushed to obey, seeming almost gleeful at the idea.

Within seconds, Ozzy appeared on the screen. He walked straight to the trussed up man and put the bowl down. He hesitated but a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something or do something more, then he turned and left the room.

"Good pet," Sherlock whispered when Ozzy threw himself at the floor beside his feet.

Moran was seen on the screen, staring at the bowl. Despite the futility of it, the sniper strained towards the water. He pulled against his restraints and made pathetic sounds.

Sherlock tilted his head on his side. "I'm pretty sure he would do anything if you were to move that bowl 3 inches closer."

"Hmm," John agreed absentmindedly. "We once said to break him, we'd need to kill Moran."

"And?"

"Wouldn't that work vice versa?"

Sherlock frowned, still pushing his hand through Ozzy's hair. "Ozzy, in a minute, go back downstairs. Tell the bad man that if he wants that water he needs to call you Ozzy. Call you it and mean it. I'll be nearby should you… stumble."

"Yes, Master." The Irishman bit his lip. He was nervous about actually talking to the man downstairs. Especially about giving him an order. That wasn't the kind of thing he did. He followed orders.

"You may be my dog, Ozzy, but you are above that one in the basement, are we clear on that?"

Ozzy nodded once. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master." He went downstairs and entered the flat where Moran was being kept.

Sherlock stood in the hallway outside.

"If you want that water," Ozzy nudged the bowl with his toe, "you have to call me Ozzy." He smiled down as the water sloshed over the side onto his shoes. The shoes he was now allowed to wear.

"Why would I do that, Jim?" Moran croaked.

“I'm not whoever that is! I'm not that man! I'm Ozzy!” He kicked over the bowl of water. “Master gave me that name. It's a good name!”

It wasn't Sherlock who appeared at the door to C though. It was John. He had his hands clasped behind his back, his spine as straight as possible. "You should kneel when your captain comes into the room." John hadn’t missed the fact Ozzy was already on the floor.

Moran made an aggrieved sound. It was near impossible to kneel with the way he was chained. Still, he tried.

John snorted as he paced across the room, strides unusually wide for a man of his height. "I said, on your knees!" John barked, reaching down and dragging him to his knees by the scruff of his neck, ignoring the discomfort it caused.

Moran's eyes were locked on the overturned bowl and the spilt water.

"Be a good boy, call Ozzy by his new name and I just might let you lick it up," the ex army captain told him.

Moran's eyes widened. "Captain, please."

"Please what?" John folded his arms.

"He's not Ozzy."

John slapped Moran even as Ozzy made an indignant sound. "As long as you hold onto that notion, you can do without water."

"No, sir, please-"

John grabbed Ozzy by the collar and tugged him towards the door.

"Captain, please- he's Ozzy."

John turned slowly to face Moran. "I don't know... I don't think you mean it. If I let you have water, you'll go back to insisting his name is Jim."

Moran had lost track of how long he had gone without a proper drink. There was nothing he could do where he was, in the state he was in. All he could do was plead. "Please, Captain. I'll only call him Ozzy, I swear."

John snorted. "What good is the word of a hired killer?"

Moran curled away from the doctor as much as he could the way he was chained.

It made John laugh. "Ozzy, half fill the bowl."

The Irishman did as ordered, returning with the bowl of water, but he didn't set it before Moran. He simply stood there and waited for John's order.

The blond held his hand out. Within seconds, he held the bowl and Ozzy dropped to his knees.

"No, Ozzy, get up. This dog is going to kiss your feet."

A dark look briefly crossed Moran's face, but it was quickly banished. He was desperate for water. "Yes, Captain," he said quietly.

"Go on then," John ordered, holding the bowl out of reach.

Ozzy stepped forward and glanced at the doctor worriedly. When the sniper bent awkwardly and kissed his feet, Ozzy gave a start. It felt very odd being the one whose feet were being kissed.

"Go back upstairs to Sherlock, Ozzy."

"Yes, sir." Ozzy scarpered out of the room and up the stairs. He was physically shaking and wanted to get back to his master as soon as possible.

John placed the bowl of water just within Moran's reach. "Drink. It may be a while before you get another chance."

Moran watched him closely, as if he was about to take it away any moment.

"I might. Now hurry up!"

The sniper bent and lapped at the water, trying to drink it as fast as he could. The whole time, John tapped his foot and kept glancing at his watch. Seb felt absolutely disgusting licking water from a bowl like a dog. But he did it anyway.

Far too soon, John barked, "Enough!" and took the bowl away.

Moran felt himself crumbling as tears threatened again. He hadn't had nearly enough water to slake his thirst. It took a few moments for him to realise the pitiful mewling sound was coming from him.

John used his foot and kicked him backwards. Moran hit the wall with a grunt and another moan.

"You need to earn luxuries. Yes, water is a luxury to you now."

The sniper didn't try to rise from where he had fallen. Without adequate water, he would die and it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Don't look so defeated," John told him. "I did say you get to earn it."

"Earn it how?" He choked out.

John paced away and sank down to one knee. "How do you think?"

Seb's mind went completely blank. If Jim had been asking, he might have had a chance at guessing, but John, no, he had to think of him as his captain, seemed completely unpredictable. How strange.

After a moment, the door opened and Sherlock came in, Ozzy crawling along behind him.

"Any ideas now?" John asked with a smirk.

"Yes, Captain. I have to be like Ji- Ozzy, Captain." He waited to see if John would make him pay for his slip up.

Of course he would. John reached forward and grabbed Seb by the scruff of the neck, forcing his head into the wall.

"You promised me that you wouldn't call him anything but Ozzy if you were allowed a drink."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Moran rushed to apologise. "It's difficult to remember. Ozzy has always been- that other person."

"I know he has. But he doesn't. He's Ozzy. That's all he knows. You will not make that mistake again. Or you'll be on the cross for 72 hours. Am I clear?"

The sniper's tan face paled. He didn't think he would survive another 72 hours on the cross without losing his mind. "Yes, Captain. Perfectly clear."

"Ozzy, fill that bowl up again," Sherlock ordered, pointing at the dog bowl on the floor.

"Yes, Master."

Moran couldn't help but hope the water was for him. He needed at least 9 ounces a day just to survive and he couldn't manage at that rate forever, but of course the doctor knew that.

"Put it on the floor," the detective ordered when Ozzy returned.

At once, he obeyed.

"Drink," he ordered.

Ozzy dropped to his knees and lapped at the bowl without a second thought.

Seb jerked towards the water, but he was still chained and John had a good grip on his hair. "Ozzy is a good dog. Not like you."

"Stop drinking," Sherlock ordered.

Ozzy stopped straight away and knelt up, his hands went to his neck. He knew they didn't have to, but he was showing off. Sherlock smirked. "Have you had enough to drink?"

Ozzy thought for a second. "No, Master."

"You may have some more."

"Thank you, Master." He crouched forward again.

Sherlock turned on Moran. "He never lies to me. Ever." He glanced up at John. "My dog needs feeding. I think yours should do it. If he manages it without making any mistakes, you may wish to reward him."

Moran wanted nothing more than to fight and argue, but he really wasn't in a position to do either and the pair of them knew it.

"Alright. Sounds good to me." John started untying Moran, but paused when Sherlock tossed a collar in his direction.

"Use that. It's like the one Mycroft gave us to use on Ozzy." The detective held up a remote control. "He won't be able to take it off and we can use it to administer punishment as needed."

John nodded once and was rather surprised to hear Ozzy snicker beside him. "Problem dog?"

"No, sir," he said quickly.

"Then what was that noise for."

"That thing hurts, sir," he whispered.

John and Sherlock exchanged looks. Ozzy seemed to be showing too much personality. They would have to address that issue later. They couldn't do it in front of Moran. Not with his 'status'.

John removed the collar Moran already wore and replaced it with the one Sherlock had just given him.

Seb's eyes kept locked on Sherlock's fingers as they twiddled the remote control. He dreaded the moment the detective stopped because he was certain Sherlock would press the button on it.

"Ozzy, back away. Come to me," Sherlock ordered.

"Yes, Master," Ozzy was more than happy to move away from the bad man and kneel beside the detective.

As soon as John finished releasing Moran from his bonds, he too backed away from the man.

"Now for a demonstration." Sherlock pressed the button, holding it down whilst Seb twitched.

The doctor had a split second to make a decision. He could defend his new slave or condemn him. Jim Moriarty had needed defending. Seb didn't, he wouldn't break that way and John knew it.

Sherlock released the pressure on the button. "There. Now you know. That was the lowest setting." He offered the ex army captain the remote and John took it.

Moran trembled where he was, trying to shove himself into the wall to hide. John snickered. "Is that really the best you can do?" He was quite pleased with how Seb was reacting. "Don't make me use this." He held the remote up for him to see. "Now, crawl into the kitchen. Wash your hands so you can prepare Ozzy's food."

He glanced at Ozzy and then at Sherlock.

"Go!" John snapped.

At the harsh sound coming from his captain, Seb jolted into motion. He had crawled into the kitchen before he had even thought of the possibility of attacking John for the remote.

By the time he had washed his hands, John had appeared at the door. "Get to it then!"

"I don't know what I'm making, sir."

"It's not like there's much to choose from," John said scathingly. "Look in the cabinets and the fridge. Make whatever you find."

Cautiously, Moran opened the fridge and the nearest cupboard. He didn't know what to make. He was no chef. That had always been Jim's role. Luckily, he wouldn't have to be a chef. There was nothing more to be found than bread and cheese. His stomach made an embarrassing sound, as hungry as he was, but he knew he daren't try sneaking any for himself. Instead, he made Ji- no, Ozzy a sandwich. He had to start thinking of him that way for his own good.

When he was done, John grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him into the wall. He pulled his hands around behind him and cuffed them there.

"Sherlock, Ozzy's lunch is ready."

The detective entered the small kitchen with Ozzy crawling at his heels. "Our new dog has fixed you something to eat. Go ahead, Ozzy. Enjoy it." He patted the Irishman's head as he passed on the way to get his sandwich.

"Back on your knees," John barked at Moran. He had the remote in his hand, but didn't want to have to use it. He didn't need to, he just dropped to the floor, completely exhausted. "Good dog." John placed a bowl in front of him that contained just the barest amount of water in the bottom of it. "There's your reward." John watched closely waiting for the abuse he was about to get but he was wrong. Moran just bent down and lapped it up.

Sebastian lapped up the last drop, drying the bottom of the bowl with his tongue. Before he could think about it, he found himself saying, "Thank you, Captain."

Sherlock glanced across the kitchen at John, he nodded once with a smirk on his face.

John picked the bowl up, put a bit more water in it and placed it back on the floor. "Good behaviour gets rewards."

"Yes, sir," he whispered lapping at the bowl again.

John watched closely and poked his toe in before he was finished.

"No!"

At the sniper's shout, the ex army captain, tipped the bowl over, spilling the water on the floor. "And poor behaviour gets its punishments." With those words, he gave the remote a brief press, sending a jolt through Moran.

He yelled out in pain and Ozzy whimpered.

Sherlock absently reached out and ran his hand through his hair as John grabbed Seb by the scruff of the neck. The doctor dragged Moran back into the other room and tossed him over the bench, then set about cuffing him to it.

"No, no, no. Captain, please-"

"Shut up!" John barked, kicking his legs open.

"Keep eating pup," Sherlock ordered Ozzy, walking out to join the doctor. He nodded his approval, not that his friend needed it. "Do you need a hand?"

John inclined his head on one side watching as the sniper just collapsed on the bench below him. "I think he's arguing for arguments sake. He's the only one that loses out." He nudged Seb's left leg with his foot. "I have all the time in the world to break him."

Moran groaned, tugging at the chains pinning him to the bench pathetically.

"Captain, you don't-"

John cut him off by kicking him up the ass.

Message received, Moran dropped his head. He didn't know why he had tried, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He briefly wondered if Jim, no Ozzy, had done the same thing. He was smarter, but he had a temper he couldn't always control.

"He's had his little break, maybe too much of one." John looked at the items in the table. "It's time he was made more uncomfortable."

Moran hated himself in that moment. If he had just been 'good' he might have been left to sleep. He jolted when a crop came down across his thighs. He hadn't even seen the captain pick it up.

John's struck him four more times. "No day dreaming, dog. I want your full attention."

Moran left the 'how could it not be' silent in his head. He closed his eyes when Ozzy appeared on his knees in the kitchen doorway. This time last year, they had had it all, now they had nothing.

John passed the crop to Sherlock and gestured Ozzy over to them. "Hand me those beads," he told the Irishman, pointing to a string of anal beads laying on the table.

Ozzy took one glance at Seb and nodded once. "Yes, sir."

Fetching them, he knelt up beside Sherlock again, waiting in case he was needed for something else.

Sherlock just smoothed his hair down. "You need a bath boy."

"Sorry, Master."

"Not your fault."

Still, Ozzy looked as if he expected to be punished for some transgression. In response, Sherlock tugged his hair. "Go into the bathroom and get yourself clean."

Ozzy glanced at the horrible grey bathroom and shivered at the thought of going back in there. "Yes, Master," he whispered anyway and began crawling in that direction.

Out of pure expediency, John had lubed up the beads as well as Moran's hole. He pushed the first surprisingly largish bead into Seb without hesitation.

Sherlock crossed the room and grabbed a gag, he wasn't in the mood to hear Moran's complaints for the next few hours.

"Ta," John tossed in the detective's direction. The next couple of beads went in with little effort, but he had to take his time as he approached the fourth. It was large in diameter and had to be worked into Moran's hole, stretching it wide.

The sniper quickly began stamping his foot as much as he could with the way he was chained. It was the only reaction he could have.

John was having none of it. He slapped Moran's arse hard. "Stop it, or I'll fetch the cane when I'm done with this. Don't move a muscle."

At those words, Moran flinched. There was no doubt the cane would be far worse than the beads or the crop.

Giving Seb one more slap on the arse in warning, John started working on the next bead. It and the final bead were huge. Moran yelped around his gag as the bead popped through the muscles rimming his hole.

On the last one, Ozzy looked up from where he was across the room. He winced at the size of it, but he couldn't feel bad for the man they were being used on. Anyone who wanted to hurt his master deserved what they got. It never occurred to him to wonder why he had been in such a fashion. If he had been told the things he had done, he wouldn't have believed it.

John paused with the last bead holding Seb's hole stretched open around it. He waited to see if the man would protest, but the sniper just lay there, muscles rigid. He glanced at the detective, eyebrows raised.

Sherlock just shrugged in response. "Nothing is a normal response anymore, John."

"I suppose you're right." The ex army captain gave the bead a last shove and it popped inside Moran who groaned this time.

The sniper didn't like how the beads made him feel and he suspected something more was coming. Expecting something more was the only way he'd survive this. At least that way when it finally stopped it would be a relief.

Moran wasn't disappointed. Soon there was a plug pressing at his entrance. It was hard, cold and more intrusive than the beads. It shifted them inside of him as it was slid slowly, maddeningly into place. It wouldn't be coming out and neither would the beads.

John returned to the crop, hitting him at his own varying intervals as Sherlock stepped to the side and watched. It wasn’t long before a clean Ozzy appeared and crawled straight to the detective.

Finishing with the crop, John began to untie him before yanking him upright, then kicking him to his knees in front of Sherlock.

The detective looked down at him with disgust. "What now? He doesn't look nearly uncomfortable enough to me."

John shrugged and turned his attention on Ozzy.

"What do you think, Ozzy?"

The Irishman's eyes went wide at being asked. "Whatever you think, sir. You and Master always know best."

"No, really. What do you think?" John was curious to know.

He glanced at the cross across the room. "I hate that thing, sir. I know I deserve it, but I really hate it."

Sherlock's curiosity had been piqued. "Why do you deserve it?"

Ozzy didn't hesitate. "You said I did, Master, and you're always right."

Sherlock smirked. "So if I was to tie you to it right now, you would deserve it?"

A slight tremor had over taken the kneeling man, but he nodded one, "Yes, Master."

John shook his head, once again amazed at the change in Ozzy. He doubted they would ever achieve the same with Moran. Maybe things had worked so well with Ozzy because he hadn't been all that mentally stable to begin with.

Sherlock grabbed Seb by the hair and tugged him towards the cross. "If you keep thinking that way, John, it will never work."

"How did you- Oh, never mind." John grasped Moran by the arm and helped drag him towards the cross, kicking a few discarded toys out of the way as they went.

Ozzy stayed where he had stopped beside the bench Moran had been tied over. He watched as John and Sherlock buckled him up to the cross. It made him shudder, but he knew it was well deserved by the man. Idly, he wondered if the man would ever have a name or if he would always be just 'dog'.

Despite himself, Moran started struggling. He loathed the cross and wanted desperately to avoid it.

John actually laughed at the struggling man as weak and pathetic as it was. They didn't even need to do anything extra to restrain him, his fights were pointless.

Moran had had enough water to keep body and soul together for another day, albeit barely, so the doctor didn't hesitate to leave him hanging there for the night. "We'll see you tomorrow, dog. Maybe."

"Come on, Ozzy," Sherlock called, holding his leash out.

The former consulting criminal scuttled across the room. He ducked his head so his master could attach it to his collar, then followed Sherlock and John from the downstairs flat.

Moran didn't even thrash as he watched the three of them leave, he just let himself fall from the cross in a hanging heap. When the door clicked shut, he let himself cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
